April, 2003, following the death of Bobbye Johns, daughter-in-law of Alta Burdett Johns, one of Bobbye's sons discovered among her effects a collection of writings by Alta. The writings are being transcribed by Bill Johns, Alta's son. This page is published to showcase those writings and to present more of her stories provided by her sister, Dorothy Fuerst. The newly discovered writings are undated.

Just thought. It wouldn't be wrong to mention that Mom's notes I have aren't in Mom's left-handed style. Consequently, someone else obviously re-copied them. This may account for minor spelling, punctuation errors. Haven't been able to say definitively yet that these transcribed notes were by Bobbye Johns. Although she obviously saved them for us. And I'm eternally grateful. Bill

We have looked at handwriting samples from Alta Burdett Johns, Martha Johns Hoover, Reatha Johns Albury, Reatha Burdett Mercer, Isabelle Burdett Smith, Lois Smith Miller, Edna Burdett DuBose and Bobbye Johns. Results are inconclusive, but Bill is leaning toward Bobbye as the scribe. Since we have clear memories of the pieces we each wrote and which Alta saved, we know that the content is authentic and hers. Virginia

John's (Mart) ulcers had been giving him a bad time and the doctor had ordered him to lay off from work for two weeks and get a different job. Being the impatient type he applied for and got a job before his two weeks were up. His wife flew to the phone, and called his doctor, who said that if he went back to work he would probably end up in the hospital.
At that time Bill was not working. He had worked a year after graduating, and as his company didn't give vacations he quit and took one of his own. In the meantime he was having himself a time. Sort of sowing his wild oats, so to speak.
John called the company and asked them if Bill could fill in for him until his doctor said he could go back to work. He told them, "Bill is pretty thorough. Just not as experienced as I am."
"Yeah? He's an experienced operator," said Virginia.
She is also considered the literary one of the family. She began telling me little stories when she was three or four, but to my sorrow I failed to write them down. I remember there was one quite gruesome, which ended, "And he drowned her," but I have forgotten just how it went.

Boy, aren't these jewels? Can you imagine the snickers and laughter of a classroom filled with children when the teacher tells the student she must have been vaccinated with a Victrola needle? Makes me giggle now! Can't you just see the whole classroom busting out with laughter! Then the poor teacher would have to get everyone settled back down because of her own doing! I really enjoy the insight as to Aunt Martha Nell's demeanor, too. I can't really picture her sitting in a straight back chair and sharing her story, can you? Anyway, thanks for the answers to questions and keep up the treasure sharing! Love, Camille 4-29-03

Enclosed is one of Mom's precious stories that has been passed down to us. Although this isn't a verbatim rendering, a paraphrastic version still captures the essence of the story. To wit:
We had bought Reatha a pair of shorts and a halter for her 13th birthday. One evening she was complaining that she had nothing to sleep in. One of the family said in a teasing tone; "Why don't you sleep in your birthday suit?" Reatha's reply, "I can't! it's on the line."
Bill

VACCINATION

Martha Nell sprawled on the floor ...... Her discourse was somewhat after this fashion, "Let me tell you, the funniest thing happened in school today. Miss collins (Franklin Jr. High School, Tampa) was talking to the class, and a girl kept talking. Miss Collins glared at her and she kept right on talking. Then Miss Collins said, "You're the kind of girl who comes to school just because she has to. Then you'll quit and get married and raise more kids to send to school to annoy us teachers and the whole thing begins all over again." Then she went on talking to the class. Betty started talking again. Miss collins turned around and said, "Betty I do declare! when they vacinated (sp) you, I think they must have used a Victrola needle."

"Regarding Everett's redeeming qualities;" A bit too effusive, but otherwise, very well put.Bill 4-28-03

ANSWERS by Virginia

Good Questions, Camille. Although I have worked very hard to be honest (mentally honest, emotionally, verbally, financially, socially) I had not realized until I began reading my mother's stories that my life is to some extent unexamined, and I am more a product of my upbringing than I had recognized. Had my mother attempted to force me into a mold of her making, to beat me into submission, then I almost certainly would have reflected her values by trying to do the opposite. Instead of beating and forcing, she led with acceptance and approval. This does not mean that I grew up to develop her best qualities; only Jim seems to have been able to do that. However, my own qualities that she approved of and cherished I tried to continue.

I have kept an almost daily journal since February of 1978, and the journal books now number over 200. I am fascinated by the family stories that relatives share with me. I have jumped into many things over the years, and although sometimes nervous, I met the challenges with the thought, I can do that. I no longer wonder why I have gone at life the way I have. Alta's unselfish love has bloomed into college degrees, Tiffany lamps, journal books, websites, good and loving grandchildren, and a reverence for the extended family. Her attitude toward me inspires in me a rock solid respect for her work while she was in this world, a respect that usually remains outside of conscious thought - just a background hum that braces, reassures and encourages me. Had she squelched that audacity of mine, Bryburcon.com would now lie stillborn.

" 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. ... 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. ...
I was only fourteen when she died, but she is forever my compass pointing true north." Excerpt from "Mama" Alta Page 2"

Regarding John Mart's personality; he was a bright, inquisitive, talkative little boy who was all action. Unfortunately he had six siblings born after he was within seven years and a dad who singled him out as a target for abuse. Had it not been for Alta's influence, Mart would not have gotten it together as well as he did.

Regarding Everett's redeeming qualities;

Love you, kiddo. Aunt Virginia

ANSWERS by Bill

"I received a citation in Junior High School for being "Pupil Of The School Year". This simple citation was typed on a sheet of plain typing paper. After fifty years, this citation is now old and worn and wrinkled. The old part comes from fifty years. The worn and wrinkled part came from my mom carrying it around in her purse for months just to be able to show people what her son had done."

Camille,
Mom didn't preach to us; she didn't resort to demeaning us; she simply provided quiet encouragement (see above) that has stuck with us for well over half a century.
Both your dad and your Uncle Jim were better mechanics than I could ever hope to be. I couldn't do much of what either one of them could do. Consequently, I resorted to writing about it. Your dad was the doer; I was the dreamer.
Your Uncle Jim really was Mom's greatest comfort. He could be left in charge anytime. During an emergency, your dad would saddle up and gallop off in 14 different directions simultaneously. I'd simply sit there stultified. Uncle Jim could, and with quiet competence, handle it all. I think I can speak for the entire family about this: Not one speck of envy from any of us.
Our paternal grandmother made me learn to read when I was only 4. Consequently, I can't remember a time when I wasn't familiar with the Gettysburg Address. Abraham Lincoln's speech was the format; four sisters' slovenliness was the catalyst. Mom presided over all of this with bemused silence. I finally gave up, left home, and eventually got my own bathroom. Having matured (aged?), I'm no longer the aggravating "neat freak" that I once was. Incidentally, after 49+ years, I really don't remember how long it took to write the "Nasty Burg Address".
My dad having helped a little black kid to catch a missed school bus was motivated purely by the chance to harass a little child attempting to skip school; nothing else. Carrying me to a school bus stop was motivated by his desire to stay out of jail. I was obligated, by law, to attend school until I was 16. The parent(s) were held responsible.
Aunt Bobbye fell heir to Mom's writings due to the fact that your Uncle Jim rented an apartment for himself and his immediate family to allow your Grandmother Johns his home as a decent place in which to die. During the sorting-out after Mom's death, Bobbye found and kept these writings of Mom's all of these years. Thank you, Bobbye!

Those Crazy Johnses

"I suspect if every mother would write down all the funny incidents that happen in the course of her days, after awhile she would have a pretty large volume.
I don't know just when the idea came to me to take down little anedotes (sp) that happened in our family. When I did get the idea, I wished that I had thought of it sooner. I remember there have been rare bits of humor especially when my children were small that are lost to posterity simply because I didn't write them down while they were fresh in my memory."
- Alta Johns -
**The above was written sometime prior to January 10, 1957-Uncle Bill**

QUESTIONS

Well, you all know how I am. I read things, hear comments and suddenly all these questions pop in my mind--how come? what led up to? was such and such happening? etc. Reading these stories from my grandmother's own pen has evoked massive desires to know more, to understand the circumstances, to delve deep into the thoughts of the subjects that have captured her attention. I would like to ask some of these questions and see if the questions can bring about a deeper understanding of the circumstances and thoughts of those involved.
First, did your mom encourage you all to write? Was it assumed that for Christmas you would write a poem, or did you do this on your own? Was Mother's Day a big to-do around your house when you were children? Was my father (Mart) a lone hold out? It seems he didn't write much. I don't remember him writing much when I was growing up. Does Uncle Jim have any recollections of time spent out by the barn during the quiet time with his mom? When Uncle Bill wrote the Nasty Burg Address was he studying the Gettysburg Address in school? How long did it take him to write it. What was the reaction of the family? Did the bathroom environment change? How did Alta handle the issues addressed in the "Address"? Overall, was Uncle Bill the one man cleaning machine within the home? My dad wasn't really known for his cleaning habits so I doubt Uncle Bill gleaned much help from him. What was Everett's reaction?
I recently went into my own older boys' bathroom to see if I could borrow some toothpaste. I opened the younger (Brandon-11) son's drawer first. I located said toothpaste, and as I examined the condition of the tube I found myself desiring a different solution to my problem. I thought, "well, maybe our older (Michael-16 at the time) son might have his own tube." Imagine, my elation when upon opening his drawer I found a perfectly folded tube of toothpaste. The lid tightly secured over the toothpaste, no toothpaste on the side of the tube or peeking itself out from under the cap. I mean perfectly folded too. He had taken the tube and pressed it against the counter to move ALL of the toothpaste to the front of the tube. I was almost afraid to use it, in case I didn't leave it in the perfect condition I found it in, but the alternative convinced me to take a chance.
Uncle Bill, Don't feel too bad about the comment about Mom's taking note. From my own experience I can tell you Mom's hear words come forth from their children's mouths that at the very moment they are said they do not believe them nor do they hurt because we know they don't quite know the whole story and when they do know the whole story we know they will then understand the stand we have taken.
Grandma's comments about her husband also cause questions to come in my mind. I know Everett didn't have a very good reputation, but Alta's comments seem to indicate respectable actions on his part. Like, the story said he carried Bill to the bus stop. Where was this? how old was Uncle Bill? It seems it was a pretty respectable thing to do to invite a black child into one's car. I assume this had to be during the time when it wasn't really an acceptable thing to walk on the same side of the street with a person of a different color. How were people of a different color regarded in your home? Do you remember any specific situations that dealt with prejudice and how they were handled?
And lastly, how in the world did Aunt Bobbye come to possess Alta's writings? What sort of relationship did Bobbye have with Alta? Would it have been likely Alta gave them to her? Would she have acquired them after Alta died? Maybe they were given to her after Everett died? I know my mother and father weren't married very long when Alta died, had Uncle Jim and Aunt Bobbye been married longer when Alta died? However it happened, I too am very thankful they have been found and wish to thank all involved for the great insights these writings have afforded!
How honored all of the subjects of Alta's writings must feel to be so important in my grandmother's world that she would have used her precious time to record their activities. I have often told myself I should write down various antics and anecdotes that have come about through my children, but I haven't done it. Hear, hear to this wonderful woman, that I never got to meet, for doing that about her own children and how valuable these things must have been to her.
Hear, Hear, also to Aunt Virginia and Uncle Bill for working so hard to make these precious words and thoughts available for all of us to enjoy! I hope this will inspire me to keep track of those humorous, amusing, embarrassing, etc. comments that come from these precious individuals I have the honor to spend my day-to-day life with. As a matter of fact I bought a notebook today that I hope to write some of these things in.
Alta Camille Johns Rodgers

Dear Aunt V, The Joker in the Deck story had to of occurred sometime after 8-27-55. That is when Mom & Dad were married. I sure am enjoying Alta's stories! I'd like to write more but Beulah is screaming for attention. Love, Camille 4-23-03

by Alta

I'm the clearing house for all sorrows and joys in our family so naturally when anything happens it always comes to me. One morning when my husband came back from carrying Bill to the bus stop which is four miles away; he told me this amusing incident: following a negro bus, which runs about the same time as Bill's bus does, after it had passed a bus stop, he noticed a little negro boy saunter up onto the highway. He stopped his car and said, "Hop in sonny, and we'll catch that bus."
The boy got in and my husband stepped on the gas. Not a word was said until he passed the bus and pulled up ahead of it, as it slowed down for the next stop. The boy got out. As he left the car he mumbled, "I was gonna play hooky this mawnin'." (Editor: Interestingly, Alta gave herself the exact, perfect title. Her early death was therefore a catastrophic event for us all.)

"A Little Girl's Dream of Love" by Gerry
The little girl set (not sat) on the stone sea wall,
Thinking of birds flying in the sky,
Wondering what kept them from having a fall.
Why was she so silently sitting there
With the tears in her eyes?
Watching the birds so swift and fair
She was thinking of the love
That someday she would share.
Would the messenger bringing it
Be a little dove?
Or would a lark with the message
Be waiting there?
Why would she be thinking of it now?
Is it so mysterious?
Has she been in love all the while?
Why is her lip in a frown?
What is so wrong?
Has some boy thrown her down?

written by Gerry Johns, junior high school age. Discovered among Alta Burdett Johns' effects April 2003

The Hurricane

A Florida hurricane had just passed, and the news of another one approaching was keeping the air waves hot. My little nephew looked at his mother and said "Why are they going to have another hurricane? Didn't the other one work?
My sister has twin girls but they are not identical. In fact they scarcely even look like sisters.
One morning my husband called my sister on the phone, but Carolyn answered.
"Who is this?" my husband asked.
"You know."
"Is it Marilyn?"
"You know better than that," was the indignant reply, "I don't even look like Marilyn."
(This is purest speculation on my part, but these two stories being right next to each other in Mom's notes makes me hazard a guess that the "hurricane" story is probably a Ronnie or Wesley Smith original. Most likely, Ronnie. Could have been a "Raymond Smith" original also. Alta's third son, Bill)

Alta's Joker in the Deck

Virginia, I call the joker in the deck because no matter what the occasion she usually has some witty, and I'm afraid sometimes impudent comment to make.
Our oldest son, John (Mart), is a very reckless driver, causing a great deal of consternation among his passengers. His wife scolds him about his driving which only seems to make him more reckless. One Sunday Virginia, who is thirteen, and I were out driving with him and his wife. He had just cut around a car with only inches to spare, before he pulled back into line out of the way of an oncoming car.
We all gasped in horror. And his wife exclaimed indignantly, "Honey! If the good Lord wasn't with you you'd sure have an accident."
Said Virginia, " One of these days you'll scare the good Lord too, then he won't be with you." (Editor Note: Virginia's date of birth was 08-16-42, so this must have been written sometime around 08-16-55.)

This had to have been written sometime during 1954. Mom had only a little less than three short years to live. This has been very difficult for me to transcribe. I'm sure you'll understand. Bill

Bill was always very neat about his person and his belongings, while the girls never seemed to have acquired the knack of a place for everything and everything in its place.
There was a constant battle around our house and it seemed to center in the bath-room. When the girls used the bath-room panties, bras, socks, wet towels, etc, etc. littered the floor, the tub, the commode and any other convenient place.
Bill on the other hand carefully picked up after himself and wouldn't take a bath in the tub until the whole bath-room was in order. And of course he continually expressed his (dislike-struck through) disapproval of the slovenly habits of the female members of the family.
One morning during the sudden quiet which followed the usual morning fracas I found this pinned to the bath-room wall.

The Nasty Burg Address

One half score and seven years ago our doctor brought forth in this household a new boy conceived at home and dedicated to the proposition of keeping that home clean. Now this family is engaged in a great domestic war, testing whether that home or any home, so filthy and so cluttered can long endure. We are met in the bathroom of that home. It seems we have dedicated that portion of the house as a resting place for anything that anyone may wish to throw there.
It is altogether filthy and improper when we do this, but in a larger house we could not dirty, we could not trash up, we could not mess up so thoroughly. The brave boy, struggling and nearly defeated, who cleaned here, has tried to clean up far above his sisters great power to strew and mess up. His mama will little note, nor long remember what he does here, (Good Lord, I had no idea, Bill--2003) but he can never forget what he has tried to do here.
It is for us all to be dedicated here to the unfinished work that part of us, thus far, have so nobly kept unfinished. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us all, that from this nasty house we take increased devotion in keeping it clean in the future. That we here highly resolve that I shall not have struggled in vain? That this house, uncleaned shall have a new try at being kept clean, and that cleaning of the house, by its occupants, and for our company and us all shall not cease by this time tomorrow.
(Apologies to no one) Your brother and son - Bill

(Editor Note: This is apparently the first draft of the Nasty Burg Address, written when Bill, the author, was seventeen instead of age fourteen as we had remembered. As I recall, this composition was later re-written and submitted as a school assignment. The "other" version of the address published here on Bryburcon.com under Bill's Stories - The Guy Perspective, was reconstructed from memory, Bill's and Virginia's, following our resignation to its being lost to posterity. One memory I am sure of is that when Bill cleaned the bathroom he disposed of the feminine articles he picked up by flushing them.)

Reatha, our oldest daughter, then in high school was given an assignment to bring in an example of a limerick. She appealed to Virginia, who nonchalantly brought forth the following masterpiece:

A girl who went on a date,
Forgot about some onions she'd ate.
He tried for a kiss'
she ducked and he missed,
So she missed that try for a mate.

I loved this story which I found quite by accident. I've often wondered if Virginia realized just how neatly she had summed up the whole man - woman controversy in the proverbial nut-shell

And, of course, Christmas is an occasion for literary efforts. One Christmas I received a homemade card, decorated with a palm tree, probably on the Gulf, with the moon and one love bird overhead. The verse in the folder was this:

'Twas the night before christmas
In the sunshine state
Not a Florida creature was stirring
so late.
All alligators were tucked snug in
their beds.
While visions of jellyfish
Danced in their heads.
When out on the beach there arose
such a clatter
The palms reared their heads
To see what was the matter.
But it was only Saint Nick
Taking off his fur suit
As he wrote, "Merry Christmas"
In the sand with his boot.

Love your daughter Virginia

MY GREATEST COMFORT

My children were quite close together, since my youngest girl was born when my oldest son was eight. Having all that bunch of little ones, sometimes it seemed I just had to get out by myself to cool off and relax. There was an old bench behind the barn where I would sit in the evenings, close enough to keep an ear open for catastrophe but out of the general before-bed-time confusion.
Jimmy, who was only six and my greatest comfort found my retreat, and would often follow me out to enjoy peace and quiet with me. One night he noticed a meteor and commented musingly, "Do shooting stars shoot all the time? Do they ever stop to eat and drink?"
These little anedotes (sp) I copied on scraps of paper or if one of my keen sprouts provided a bit of childish genius I saved it until I have acquired quite a collection.
Bill, who was generally quiet and methodical occassionally (sp) came up with something rare and poignant like this:

"To Mother on Mother's Day."
When my pappy came your way,
that was the beginning of a happy day.
But your day should be happier some way.
When we feel scrappy, you make us happy.
When we are mad, you always make us glad.
If a button pops off and I have to go in a minute,
you're always there to pin it.
Your 3rd. Son Bill

BAD ACTORS
By Alta Johns

I've heard tales of bad actors ever since I went to live at Okeechobee after I married. Now Uncle Mart Manning was such a one. So was Pogey Bill, but for downright meanness I think that Dolph Richards topped them both. These men born in a rough environment, and possessed of complete fearlessness, could have been real heroes, and some of the stories told about them possesses an element of heroism. I suppose it was this element of fearlessness that commanded a certain admiration instead of hatred among their associates, even tho' they lived in a community where most of the people were ordinary, law abiding citizens.

Dolph Richard kept two bull dogs in his house at all times and outside he kept several guineas. Now a guinea is a silly bird, which, at the slightest movement or sound, sets up an ungodly racket that would wake the dead. Since Dolph had made numerous enemies in his lifetime, he figured that if any one wanted to kill him, they would have a hard time getting past his guineas and his bull dogs.

One time one of his neighbors was telling him about two Negroes, an old man and his wife, who had done some work for him, and that he still owed them. Dolph told him, "If you give me the money that you owe them, I'll kill them for you." Of course the man thought that he was only joking, so he went on about his business, thinking nothing more about the incident. The next day he met Dolph again, and he ask him for the money. "You're joking," said the man, "You didn't kill that old man and woman?" "Sure did," answered Dolph.

I never did learn whether anything was done about it, but it seems that killing a 'nigger' 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.

Dolph and Mat Kelly were enemies. Just how it all began no one seems to know, and the beginning of it was quite innocent, anyway. However, it was common knowledge that they hated each other. Word got around, that Mat was looking for Dolph. Dolph went to Mat's house one night when he was gone and stole all of his guns and knives and threw them in the river.

When Mat came home and found that his guns and knives had been stolen, he of course knew that it was Dolph who had done it. He became so frightened that he left the country. When Dolph's cronies went to tell him that Mat had left the country, he was no where to be found. He had left the country too.

GOOD FOR EVIL
By Alta Ruth Burdett Johns

If anything Louis Richard, Dolph Richard's brother, was a wilder character than Dolph. He just wasn't remembered as well because he wasn't around as long. Everybody always felt that it was Louis who killed Tate Emptage, and there were several other killings that he had to his credit. It seems that he was never brought to trial except on one occasion. Nobody would tell anything that they knew on him simply because they were afraid to.

One night at a dance out at Nubbin's Slough Louis and Ashley King got in an argument over a girl, and Louis pulled out his gun and shot King. They had court about it, and Louis was convicted of second-degree murder. He got a maximum of twenty years, but Dolph (his brother) immediately started a petition around the community for him. And believe it or not, his conviction was set aside. Everybody was afraid not to sign the petition except one man, a preacher. The next week the preacher's own son was arrested for murder, and the preacher went right on over to Dolph's house and signed the petition.

However, a day of reckoning was in store for Louis, and it came. Three men who professed to be his friends (but who feared him) nevertheless, decided to kill him. They knew that he always took a drink of water after a drink of shine, so two of them, John Cason and Cosmo Johns, went to his house while a third one, Buck Emptage, waited outside.

Now there was a shelf on a back porch where he kept his water bucket. One of the men offered him a drink of shine. When he had taken it he stepped (out) on the back porch for his drink of water, and Buck let loose with a load of buck-shot. He missed Louis, but the shot buried up in the door. Of course Louis stepped back into the house, but when he did John Cason shot him. The three were tried for murder, but John Cason swore that Louis had been messing with his wife.

Later on Buck Emptage was found dead at Nubbin's Slaughter, while Cosmo Johns was killed in a mighty peculiar accident. Everybody knew that Dolph had a hand in both deaths, but there wasn't enough evidence to bring a conviction against him. John Cason went down around Fort Meade, and for a long time nobody knew where he was.

Editor's Note: The above two stories, "Bad Actors" and "Good For Evil", are original unpublished writing by Alta Ruth Burdett Johns discovered among eighty-eight years of treasures by her sister, Dorothy Burdett Fuerst, and forwarded to Bryburcon.com June, 2002. The stories have to do with Alta's life sometime in the late 1930's in Okeechobee, Florida. They were written in 1955.