UNDERSTANDING THE EIGHTH COMMANDMENT

We moved into that big, white, two-story house where my Granny Poe had lived since before I could remember. She and my Granddaddy moved into that fancy apartment up at Light. They settled into what was a very short-lived retirement, as it turned out. We’d two fine teams now. One team of big red mules and two of the prettiest white mares you ever laid your eyes on. Gonna farm forty acres. We were moving right up.

Electricity was coming out from town, so they said. The General was thrilled with the idea we’d have electric lights just like city folks. “That’ll be so great,” she said. Course there were a few set backs here and there. Now, there was this Mr. Miller who lived over across the woods and up an old muddy lane. He didn't like this at all. He told My Daddy that we’re all just fine the way we were. "Why, if we get to depending on all this modern stuff, them government fellers will come out here and take over our lives," he prophesied. He had already heard about a number that they were going to give everyone when they were born. Sure sounded a great deal like the beginning of the Mark of the Beast to him. He was having no part of it.

Well, some fellers came out to put up some poles so they could string some highline wires. Unfortunately, for them, they had to be run right across Mr. Miller's farm. They had a legal paper that said they could do anything they wanted to. It seemed Ol’ Roosevelt himself had signed the order. They could go on your land without permission, as long as it was for the overall good of the country, according to what they told him. Mr. Miller stood right there with his shotgun and told them he had a title free and clear to his land and they weren’t putting up no ol’ poles on his farm. He didn’t kere what kind of ol’ paper they had. As far as he knew, Ol’ Roosevelt had never even been out this way. I can’t say, if them ol’ boys were skeered, but I do know they left, and pretty soon they came back with the sheriff. Now, the sheriff, he was an elected official, and he wasn’t hankering to offend no solid land owning citizen like Mr. Miller. Word traveled fast, when you didn't treat a feller right, in them parts. He gave old Mr. Miller a right good talking to though, and a little while later, them fellers went to work a putting up them poles.

I guess Mr. Miller gave in for the moment, as he didn't shoot anybody that day. However, that night he came back with his old double-edged ax he used for chopping wood. He went right to work, and cut down all of them fancy poles. My Daddy said the chopping went on way into the night. Everyone said his wife, Elsie, held the light to help him see where to chop. I’m happy to report, them government fellers won, and nobody got killed. Poor old Mr. Miller was five years behind everybody else getting his electric lights. Seemed them government fellers sure held a grudge a long time.

One day, an old boy showed up driving a big, old, orange truck. He was dressed in some kind of long sleeved, yeller raincoat. It seemed strange, it being hot summer time and all. He told everyone he had some stuff called DDT that he was gonna spray. “Ol’ Roosevelt hisself had approved of it personally,” he said. Why, it was going to kill all the flies, mosquitoes, dog fleas, ticks, varied pests, and most importantly, bed bugs in the whole darn country, according to him.

The General was fond of Ol’ Roosevelt. Looked like he was just gonna give us all a whole new way of life. Why, hadn’t he pretty well put an end to the depression already? Well, that feller went to putting that stuff out up and down the road and here and there. It surely did have an unpleasant smell, but the General said it was okay, since the President had approved of it. That evening we sat right out there on the front porch in the middle of July and didn’t get bit by nary a one of them skeeters. That’s what My Daddy called them pesky little devils. Life sure was changing fast, no more pests. Lights just like in town and us a farming forty acres.

As you know, the General primarily worked for the Lord. She was always a witnessing for Him and fighting with the Devil. Church meetings and revivals were her primary concern. Bringing the heathen in and getting them churched up, was why the Lord had commissioned her in the first place. After all, this life was short, and we were going to be in Heaven forever. Now, that truly was good news, and we rejoiced in it.

The General felt, however, we should do the best we could on this earth and live as comfortable as possible. “That is the way of a good and holy people. The thing you got to learn is to be a good provider and homemaker for your family and keep your living right around you. This means keeping two pigs to eat the kitchen scraps. Later when they are nice and fat, you can eat them. Sure beats wasting scraps,” she said. Every spring, she’d order one hundred chicks from Sears and Roebuck. They’d come by mail order right to the house. Now, five of them little chickens would usually be dead, but they gave you extra anyway. So, it didn't matter. We’d fix up a little place in the corner of the living room and watch over them the first few days. Later on they’d be moved outside to a place My Daddy had fixed up for’em. We called it the chicken brooder. It was rigged up with a light bulb for heat and covered over with a piece of old tin. It was right cozy like. Seventy-five of’em would be eaten when they reached about two pounds. The General would fry them up all golden brown. She’d make white cream, country gravy along with fresh vegetables plucked right out of her garden. We feasted for a full three months on them fabulous birds. Twenty-five or so of’em that turned out to be hens were kept for eggs. We’d gather eggs all year round. The twenty-five hens from the previous year would start to show up on the kitchen table as chicken and dumplings. The General would give them a nice long stewing. A great odor would permeate the house. Coming in from the outdoors, the smell would wash over you, and give you a right homey-like feeling. The hens would sustain us through the fall and along about mid-December we’d slaughter the hogs.

The General had at least one hundred fruit jars that she’d fill with fruit and vegetables from the garden every year. Those long, hot summer days were filled with cooking and canning. Wiping the jars clean, and storing them, was a delight to the General. She loved looking at them all lined up. They were filled with all kinds of wonderful things including corn, beans, peaches, pears, blackberries, plums, and fruit preserves. She looked quite pleased and would often smile that ‘I love my family smile, I’m going to take care of you, don't worry look.’ That always gave me a great feeling of security.

Included in this plan of survival were potatoes too. They were grown and stored under the house along with big yeller and white onions. The General said if you growed your own stuff like that, you’d never go hungry. A little cocoa, lard, sugar, salt, flour, vanilla flavoring, some other odds and ends were all we really needed to buy. The rest came out of the yard or the garden. I can tell you, as an adult, that what we are eating today cannot compare to the table the General set before us in those days.

Was my world great or what? Pal was my constant companion. The war had ended and the boys, that had survived, were all coming home from the war. A feller named Truman was now in the White House. I had just turned eight years old and my beloved brother ten. My Daddy started taking my brother to work with him long about this time. I was free to go about as I pleased except during the summer, when I had to chop the cotton, and in the fall; of course, I had to help pick it. My Daddy said us boys fought too much. “It’s better you just stay here at the house and help your Mommy out. I do want you to keep the horse trough full of water though,” he said. I learned to get my work done quickly. Actually, the General did most of it, while I spent my time exploring.

The Lone Ranger, Tennessee Jed, Superman, Sgt. Preston of the Yukon with Ol’ King, Our Miss Brooks and Sky King were very much a part of my life. Ol’ Pal and me were Sgt. Preston and Ol’ King. We’d go about the farm reliving, daily, the wonderful stories I heard on the radio. The Jeaner Jackson was two years old. The General kept her dressed in silk dresses and curled her long brown locks that hung down to her shoulders. She was the most beautiful of all children. Such a smile she’d give. She’d lock her legs around my waist, and I’d twirl her around and around. She’d scream with delight. I’ve already told you how she liked me the best of anyone, except maybe the General.

One day I’d finished my chores in about fifteen minutes. I announced to the General that I was a going a fishing. Right behind my Granddaddy’s two-story house was a drainage ditch that everyone called Swan Pond. Everyone knew there were huge, yellow belly catfish in there and I dreamed of catching one. You remember how My Daddy loved to eat fish. Imagine me getting one of them big ol' catfish and the General cooking it up. My Daddy would come in, take off his shirt, and look at that big ol’ boy lying there. The General would announce that I’d indeed caught it by myself. That was gonna make me a big man around there.

I’d been fishing many times before with My Daddy. In the old shed, out there where Ol’ Trigger had all them pups, were some fishing line and hooks. My Daddy had taught me how to use bolts for sinkers. I’d cut a small sapling for a pole when I got there. The General told me to look under old pieces of wood scattered here and there out in the wood yard and I’d find some fat worms. I grabbed a can, and with Ol’ Pal sensing the excitement, we went to hunting for them ol’ worms. We put a big clod of dirt in the can so they wouldn't die before we needed them for bait. The General fixed us up lunch. She made me a couple of sandwiches out of bacon from them Ol’ pigs she had fattened up on scraps and yesterdays biscuits. The sun was hot, and I’d just never been happier in my life. Thinking about them ol' catfish sure motivated me.

We got to Swan Pond, cut us a pole and fixed it up just right and got to fishing. Ol’ Pal seemed to want to help me out. He’d stop and look real intense at the water. Then he’d jump in and make a big splash. I’d holler, “NO.” He’d look at me, hold one foot up, and give me a look like he was trying to figure out what was the matter with me. I’d get him out, and we’d go through the whole thing again. Now, it is getting along to about hungry time. We ate up the biscuits and fatback and prepared ourselves for success. We waited, waited, and we waited some more. Sometimes, them old fish just won't bite. I figured later on they’d get started, so we’d just have to stick it out.

Now, an eight-year-old can only wait so long. My hope about that golden fried fish was beginning to fade to the back of my mind. I was thinking that maybe even a little perch would, at least, get me some recognition. My Daddy could have it all to himself. After a while, I decided to take me a stroll. I stuck my pole in the ditch-bank and called Ol’ Pal. We played along the bank, threw a few sticks in the water, and waited for the fish to start biting.

Suddenly, I saw a long piece of rope tied to something that was hidden in the water. “Pal, come here boy.” I yelled. “What’s this? Help me!” He leaped in, and we gave a hard ol’ pull, and out came this neat little wooden box. Now, it had slats and looked kinda like a cage. There inside, I saw the fish I've been dreaming to catch. In fact, there were four of them. What luck! “We don't have to sit here no more, Boy,” I explained to him. I could already see the fish piled high on My Daddy’s plate. We started fishing’em out of there. They sure were lively. Finally, we got’em all strung up on a branch, just like I had seen My Daddy do. We were off to the house, me a running, and Ol’ Pal barking and jumping in the air. Victory at last!

I entered the house and told the General about my good fortune. She seemed a little surprised, but didn't say much. I was a little disappointed at her lack of enthusiasm. “I’ll just wait until tomorrow to cook the fish, since supper is almost ready, anyway,” she said. I began to get the feeling something wasn’t right. My Daddy came in from work and instead of the General bragging on me, she took him in the bedroom and commenced to whisper.

I started getting that sinking feeling. I couldn’t figure out what the problem was. I had truly convinced myself someone had just put them ol’ fish in that box and forgot about’em. If they had remembered, they surely would’ve come back for’em. I heard them coming out, and my dream turned to sand in my mouth. Instead of My Daddy being proud of me, he seemed very upset and that little red place on his nose had showed up. Not a good sign.

"Tell me Dick. Where did you get them fish?" he asked.

"I caught them."

"These are blue channel catfish. There aren’t any fish in Swan Pond like these. Someone's caught them in the river and they're holding them in Swan Pond. Don’t you know that?"

I knew it was all over and now he hated me. Then he said something that sent a chill right through me. "These are the Bear's fish. He's got a live box there in Swan Pond and keeps’em there until he sells’em. Did you know it was a sin to steal?" I didn’t respond, but instead broke into tears. Guilt seeped into my soul as I realized the gravity of what I’d done. The General and My Daddy knew I was a liar and a thief. How could I ever go on? DDT, electric lights, forty acres and two teams just didn't mean anything to a condemned thief.

"I want you to take these over to the Ol’Bear’s place and tell him you stole them and ask him to forgive you," he said. I went numb. Fear like I’d never known gripped me. The Bear who’d shook My Daddy. The man My Daddy’d almost killed. I feared him more than any man alive. I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I’d never disobeyed My Daddy before, but this I could not do. The fear of the Bear was greater than that of the strap. The strap I got. I still refused. I was whipped four times. The fourth time, unmercifully. I still couldn’t overcome my great fear. I wasn’t capable of standing in front of the big Bear with the long, black beard, and the rough voice and tell him I’d stolen his fish. No, I wouldn’t do it. Kill me, if you must.

Thanks to the General, for pointing out to My Daddy he was going to kill me, he resorted to another tactic. He gathered up them old fish in one hand and grabbed me by the arm with the other. He then bodily dragged me the half mile to the workshop where the Ol’ Bear was busy doing his fixing. Upon our arrival My Daddy announced to him that I’d something to tell him. This was a man of six-feet two-inches; he towered over me. He’d shook My Daddy. He’d threatened my very existence. This was the worst day of my life. I now stood before him, condemned to my death.

Still, with all the pain from the whipping, all the dragging, all the tears, all the shame, I still couldn’t bring myself to speak. My Daddy did the talking for me and told of me breaking the Eighth Commandment. It was the law of Almighty God, Creator, Ruler and Judge of the whole world. I stood there in my shame and humiliation. Heavy sobs came from deep down in my chest as I begged for forgiveness.

The Bear, as I remember it today, was quite understanding with such a horrible thief. He reached out and touched my head and gave me a little pat. “No harm done I reckon. I was gonna give them ol’ fish to somebody. Ain’t hardly got no time to be fooling with’em right now anyway," he said. Then he gave me a little pat and I knew I had been pardoned of my great sin. This man that I’d so feared for three long years took on the dimension of a regular human being that day. I felt a great relief as the guilt melted away. How sweet it was to have that great feeling of forgiveness sweep my soul. I changed my mind about the Ol’Bear that day. He watched me grow up and always treated me with a great kindness. Maybe he remembered some of his own sins and was moved to compassion. Rest in peace my Good Bear.