MY DADDY

I would now like for you to meet My Daddy, John Adam Messer. He was eight years old when he was walking across the sand dunes a mile and a half from Light, Arkansas, going west, headed towards the family home. He was holding my Aunt Ruby’s hand. She, being the older one by four years, was trying to comfort him. A neighbor had just died, and they were both quite shaken. My Daddy, trying to understand the great loss of human life, was walking rapidly when he turned to my Aunt, and said, “Gosh, I sure hope nothing happens to our Mommy.” Four days later she lay in state at the family home.

My Granddaddy Messer was from Cherokee, Alabama. His lovely wife’s name was Lena and she was the daughter of a Cherokee Indian Chief. We are Southerners and our history goes back to long before the great Civil War between the states. The failure to keep up with legal documents and family traditions has left us with little in terms of certificates for names, deaths, baptisms, marriages, etc. My Daddy said we were mostly Irish. He didn’t remember much of the extended family, as they had all been scattered in the big war between the States.

My Daddy did, however, remember a great deal of his earlier life when his mommy was living and they lived in Alabama. My Granddaddy lived with his growing family there; he was in business, so to speak. My Daddy said he rode a great black stallion and carried a very large gun of the 44 caliber strapped to his hip. Each day he’d go into the nearby hills to tend his concoction brewed from a family recipe. Each evening, shortly after dark, he’d return. They’d all gather around the kitchen table and talk of the day's events.

Now, one day when my Granddaddy was coming home in the early evening and a full moon was out he had a very unusual experience. He was traveling along on his giant black stallion at a leisurely pace. Suddenly, a form joined alongside of them. It was about the size of a small, white dog. According to my Granddaddy, it looked more like some kind of a light than any living thing he had ever seen. The great horse became nervous, pulled at the reins, snorted and became quite alarmed. My Granddaddy, being a very brave man, carrying a very big caliber gun, decided to double back a few yards to see what it would do. It turned when he did, almost fluid like, and followed him. My Granddaddy took out his big pistol and fired six rounds into the small white form. It seemed to have no effect whatsoever. At that, my Granddaddy gave rein to his horse and they made quite a speedy trip to the house. My Daddy said he remembered the big black stallion snorting and in general kicking up a ruckus the rest of the night.

Now, according to My Daddy, some government men became quite interested in my Granddaddy’s recipe. The Messers never had a great deal of regard for government men, especially at that time, as it seemed they were always from up North. One evening, my Granddaddy came home and announced they would be leaving shortly. That night around mid-night they caught a train for Memphis, Tennessee. My Daddy says he remembers that my Granddaddy had all the money he could put in a twenty-pound flour sack. That may have been exaggerated in his young mind, as it seems they were quite poor upon arrival in the Land of Opportunity.

According to My Daddy, a great deal of security was to be had in Arkansas. It seems the government men that came over the Mississippi into Arkansas had a way of never going back. My Granddaddy felt safe upon his arrival. It seems there were several folks living about that had experienced some of the same problems my Granddaddy had. He decided not to take any chances and went to Greene County located about ninety miles from Memphis in what is known as the Boot Heel area.

The land was low and swampy and mostly sloughs. They were filled with snakes, mosquitoes, and every other kind of varmint that could be of aggravation to man. There were, however, hickory knolls, with the land rising up here and there. These knolls got their names from the fact that they were covered with hickory-nut trees. People there raised cotton, pigs, and chickens, hunted for game, had lots of children, and struggled with making a living.

After my Grandmother Lena died, my Granddaddy had a very difficult time in that harsh land fulfilling the role of both parents. He often took to medicating himself with the medicine from his recipe the government had so desired. My Daddy was affected deeply by all these events and struggled all his life to overcome such a harsh upbringing. I think with the General’s help he did very well.

My Granddad was quite a colorful character. Many stories are still being told of his escapades while drinking. Some of the old timers still smile at the mention of his name. A Mr. Grady Slaydon, from Light, told one of my favorite stories. It seems that one day, a certain Doc Self, being the only doctor for miles around, happened to be in the area. Now, he being a refined Southern Gentleman had acquired a taste for my Granddaddy’s recipe. He had a high stepping horse that pulled him around in a magnificent buggy. Granddaddy and the doctor were riding up and down the road from the schoolhouse to the general store discussing the important issues of the day. The more they drank the more they liked each other. The doctor wanting to help my poor Granddaddy climb the social ladder said to him, “Sid, why don’t you become a doctor?” At which my Granddaddy replied, “Well, Doc, I don’t think I’m smart enough.” At that, according to all accounts, the good doctor replied, “Hell, man, all you got to know is what’ll kill’em and what won’t.”