WHAT EVIL HATH CONSUMED MY CHILD

My Daddy said his mommy told him, when he was a little boy, of an Old Cherokee legend she’d heard that explained how man came to be. It seemed that the spirit had no body to feel as it moved over the earth. The earth, on the other hand, had no spirit for movement. They were speaking of this one day and how sad it was for each of them. They talked it over, and decided that they’d unite. The earth would form the body, and then the spirit would enter into it. This would enable them to move and feel and they could both enjoy the good things of the world. Trying to look at the possible problems that could develop from this union, they decided to make a contract. The agreement was that this would be a temporary arrangement that would have to be renewed at periodic intervals. This renewal process became known as Life and Death

The General had thoroughly indoctrinated all of us in the teaching of the New Testament. To question it would have been pure blasphemy. In those days, there were no televisions to entertain families. When the adults would gather, they’d tell stories. The children would all sit around in a circle and listen to the many tales and legends that had been passed down. I’d concluded that there was a big black cloud that traveled high in the sky and circled around the whole earth. When it dipped down into villages and hamlets, an Army of Angels of Death would be sent forth to collect the living. I could see the proof of this by the dying that took place all around us. I’d watch for this cloud much like one would look for a dangerous beast roaming free that wanted to devour me. I knew one of the Angels working from that cloud, and his name was “POLIO”.

The word polio shot fear through all of us that were children in the late 1940s and early 50s. We’d be playing in school with our classmates one-day, and the following morning, they would be in the hospital paralyzed. There were times they died quickly if they weren’t promptly diagnosed and treated. There was no cure for this dreaded disease. The virus invaded vital organs and muscles and would paralyze them. Many times it would enter the diaphragm and the victim would be unable to breathe. These cases were the most severe. Provided you weren't given some assistance immediately, death was quick and certain.

The hospital wards were full of big, ugly, tubes called iron lungs that aided in the victims breathing. Each community had their crippled and dying. The sad part was, it mostly affected children. Every research laboratory in the country was desperately looking for a cure. A great curse had come upon our land. Clinics were set up everywhere to give hot baths to the suffering and dying. Although this didn’t cure the disease it seemed to give some comfort and relieve the pain. Whole family's lives were destroyed by this horrible plague. The time and energy required to take care of the afflicted was enormous and the economic drain was devastating. We lived in constant dread.

To enter the sawmill, you passed through a gap in the fence right at the backside of our horse lot. A dirt road ran through the center of the camp angling back northwest. The camp was set up in two parts. The mill itself consisted of six to eight big piles of logs. The stacked lumber covered an area half the size of a football field. Heavy tractor equipment and a big thirty-foot high yellow sawdust pile set on the backside of the camp. In front, as you entered, there were ten big tents and two slab shacks constructed about a hundred feet apart. The water pumps, flapping of the freshly washed clothes and outhouses could be seen as you passed through the camp. Behind some of the tents were little vegetable gardens. An occasional chicken pen and coop could be seen here and there. The sound of the kids playing with their dogs and the women chattering gaily gave vibrancy to the camp.

The very first tent, on the right, belonged to the Copeland family. Because of the location of the tent, I knew this family better than the others inside the camp. Mr. Copeland was about 28 years old. He appeared to be around six-feet tall and weighed approximately one hundred and eighty pounds. He had a narrow waist with big powerful arms and shoulders. He worked long hard days carrying lumber from the saw as it ripped through the big logs. Some days I’d see him riding the mobile platform that carried the log to and from the saw. He’d be operating the lever that controlled the big log after it passed through the blade. The saw would sing its cutting song as big planks of timber fell into the hands of waiting men who carried them and piled them in big stacks. His wife looked to be about twenty-three. She was of medium height and of a slender build. She wore her long, blondish hair pulled back in a ponytail.

When I would see Mr. Copeland in his tent he would always be shirtless on those long, hot summer days and nights. I remember his wife wearing the typical pedal pushers, and sleeveless blouses, that were so popular in the nineteen-fifties. She’d touch his bare shoulders adoringly, as she tended to his needs. They had three children that ran in and out of the tent and seemed to be everywhere at once. I knew them to be a loving, caring and happy family. Mr. Copeland was a typical wilderness man when with the other men, but with his family he was a loving husband and father.

The General became known as a strict, religious, but good woman to all the ladies in the camp. The women would often come to her in time of crisis for advice and religious counseling. But I don’t remember any real deep friendships ever being developed between them. There was, however, mutual respect and a certain territorial tolerance.

The General's Aide was only three and toddling around. The Jeaner Jackson was seven and not yet big enough to accompany me on my long hunts. The oldest little Copeland girl was about six-year-old and was a familiar sight playing in our yard. Her name was Jearline. The General became quite fond of her, and would often invite her to eat with us at mealtime. She had long, platinum blonde hair that hung down her back about three inches. In front, her bangs came down to just above her eyes. Her mother would pull her hair back, and tie it in a ponytail while she played. Her eyes were a deep, sky blue. She looked like an angel straight from heaven. Jearline was a happy child that bubbled over with energy. She had a ready smile and was quick to laughter. Her little voice rang out like a silver bell as she played among us. When I’d come in and out of the house, she and Jeaner Jackson would vie for my attention. I’d pretend to be a monster and chase them about. They’d run and scream with glee.

In May of 1950, the weather was just beginning to warm up. The fields were being plowed and the rich earth had been turned over. The smell of the black soil came up to greet us as we walked about. The sun shone with a dazzling brilliance and the sky was a peaceful bright blue. The days had lengthened and had become warm. The brightly colored birds and the black crows were in the air, and on the ground, praising Mother Earth for all of her beauty. The long winter was over, and new life abounded all around us. The scream of the saw cutting through the logs could be heard from morning until night. It was a happy time at our house and in the sawmill camp.

Mrs. Copeland had sewn a beautiful dress for her angel, Jearline. The bottom was blue with bright, yellow and white daisies glaring out of the fresh sewn print. The top half of the little dress was white. Only a small two-inch strip of the blue, yellow and white reached up and over her shoulders. She had been outfitted with a pair of black, patent leather shoes with one thin strap locking into a silver buckle. She was wearing little, white anklet socks. She’d gotten permission from her mommy to come to our house and show the General, along with the rest of us, her new clothes. She’d been instructed to hurry. They were preparing for their weekly visit to town

I can still see her standing there in the yard pressing down with her little hands on her precious new dress. She was almost embarrassed to be wearing such finery. She lowered her head, as she stood there for us to admire her. I was on the porch, and the impression is burnt into my memory. The General came and pushed the screen door half-open and looked down at her. “My, ain't we beautiful, Jearline?” she asked. The admiration being more than she could stand, she turned, and dashed away. I watched as she ran throwing her feet high behind her. She wanted to make sure we didn't miss seeing her new shoes.

The following morning the news came to us that Jearline had developed a headache and had been taken to the doctor. The Copeland family had not yet returned. I looked to the heavens for the black cloud. “Dear God, please, let the angel of death pass over us,” I prayed. The following day when I came in from the cotton field the General stood at the stove with her eyes closed in silent prayer. Upon hearing me come in she turned and looked at me. “Dick, little Jearline died last night,” she said. A feeling of dread and fear filled me. I stood unable to move as the waves of sadness washed over me.

“But how, why?” I stammered.

“She had Polio, son.”

I wonder today about her little grave and if anyone tends to the spot where she lies. Has she been forgotten? Her mother and father are gone now from this world. How sad she never lived to have children of her own and that her precious little life, with all of its potential, was taken from us.

The days that followed were dark. I no longer could see the beauty of nature, or hear the song of the birds and the caw of the crows. The saw screaming, as it cut through the wood, was mournful and sad. I feared, not only for my own life, but also for all of my siblings. Would the black cloud come down again and send forth her anger upon us?

The mother and father's grief was indescribable. How does one bury a child? How do they go on? How can one return to work and look at those around them? The pain is so great that the rough wilderness men would turn away, rather than look into the face of one who had suffered such tragedy. At that time I was unable to deal with the reality of death, but through the years I’ve learned slowly to accept such things. I’ve come to understand our lives are truly in the hands of a power that we cannot conceive. How great is your sting old death when you take away our children.

The sorrowful mother came to our house with pictures of her darling Jearline lying in a little, white coffin. She wanted the General to see that she had a Christian burial. That in her death, she had all the finery that she was denied in her short stay on this earth. I was horrified. I couldn’t look upon this angel's face lying there cold and unmoving. I hurried to the back of the house to cry and to pray.

In Mexico, there’s a legend. The people tell of this woman that fell in-love with the most handsome of men. She wanted him with all of her heart and was blinded with passion. He being a very selfish soul explained to her that he couldn't possible enter into a relationship with a woman that had children. This so grieved her that in her sorrow she murdered them. Upon doing so, she immediately regretted her action. She wandered the earth mourning her children until her death. Then, the Lord God of the Universe sentenced her back to the world to suffer her loss through all eternity. She can be heard in hamlets and villages all over Mexico. The Mexicans call her La Llorona. They say the sound epitomizes what one feels upon loosing a child. I haven’t heard the sound as of this writing, but I do believe the loss of a child has to be the greatest of all human tragedy.