STRONG MEN AND GREAT HORSES

There were many people and animals in my early formation, and one was equally important as the other. Before my Granddaddy got the idea of becoming rich and cornering the horse market, he and Granny Poe lived in a big, white, two-story house. Immediately out the back door of the screened-in porch, about twelve feet, was a hand pump. It was used to provide water for the house and the horses. There was a piece of bent tin that ran from the pump, into a big watering trough, inside the horse lot. At noon, when the animals were fed, they’d drink the trough dry, and the chore to fill it back up fell to the tormentor and me. The barn, where the horses were housed and fed was there too. The tormentor and I spent many long hours crawling in and out of the holding cribs, stalls and hayloft.

My Daddy had married the General and continued to work for my Granddaddy. We lived in a little two-room house behind the horse lot. It was approximately three hundred yards from my grandparents. We were rarely home, as the General always helped my Granny Poe with those big meals for the hungry men who drove those great draft horses from sun to sun. As the General and Granny Poe worked, I was free to play around the horse lot and observe all the wonderful teaming life that lived there. To the right of the pump, about fourteen feet, was a shed for assorted tools. The opening of the shed faced to the south, but at the northeast corner of the shed began the barn lot. Right at the corner was a large gatepost from which hung a huge gate. The men and their work teams would pass in and out to the fields and beyond.

I spent many hours being coaxed by my Granddaddy to pump water into the eternally empty water trough. Being two years younger than the tormentor, I deferred to him as much as was possible. I’d sit on the big gatepost at quitting time and wait for the workers to come in out of the fields. I loved seeing the big varied colored horses and their big strong drivers. Often, I’d reach out and touch the huge animals with my hand, call their names and greet the drivers. They would joke with me and ruffle my hair. My world was a grand place. The chickens clucked in the horse lot, scratching in the droppings, looking for corn to recycle. Cats lived in the barn, and a hound would occasionally appear and disappear.

One hot sunny afternoon, as the men returned from the fields, the man known to me as Freeman said, “Well Dick, I guess I won’t see you again for awhile.” That was a very troubling statement. I wasn’t accustomed to my world changing and losing a friend was something I had not yet experienced.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He lowered his head.

“Uncle Sam wants me, Dick.”

“But Grandpa wants you too.”

He chuckled and laid his hand on my head and looked at me. “You’re to young to understand right now, Dick. But someday you will,” he replied.

Up until that time, I hadn't been touched in a personal way by the war. Suddenly, I was gripped by that same icy, lonely feeling that I learned later in life comes when I’m about to lose something or someone dear to me.

This tall, handsome man who drove the noble beast for my Granddaddy went away to a very far-off place. Many years passed before I saw him again, as I had suspected, he passed from my daily life forever. Years later, I had the pleasure of encountering him at the local village. He was wearing a magnificent U.S. Army uniform with very shiny boots. His head was crowned with a pointed cap that I came to know, later in life, as the piss cutter. His melancholy had passed, and he seemed a very happy feller. He went when called, to serve our great country and fought to protect our way of life that I’d only begun to awaken to. I salute you Mr. Freeman Stone of Light, Arkansas. No one ever told me how many Germans you killed. I don’t suppose it matters. To me you were, and are, a great hero.