This is the final chapter of my uncle’s reminiscing about his childhood, but it’s my favorite. My own father has shared what it was like living youth through WWII, but the result was a generation of imaginative ingenuity that brought my generation great inventions of technology and comfort. In his final words, uncle tells his salvation story. Everyone should tell theirs often and be inspired by the words of others. Thank you uncle. This girl really loves you!
Uncle Wendell and Billy Rex
Part III
There were always clean fun things for kids to do in the neighborhood and on the school playground in those simple idyllic days. Those activities included spinning tops of all sizes and colors, tossing washers into a series of holes in the ground with each hole having a different value, mumble peg, and yo-yo’s just to name a few. Each seemed to take their turn at being the fad for a short season.
All sorts of games were played with marbles. A game of marbles could become a significant human relations problem when “keeps” were included in the rules of the game. Most of the time “keeps” was off-limits. For some parents and teachers “keeps” was considered a form of gambling and that was a big “no-no.” At times arbitration was necessary by a higher authority to settle disputes. Sometimes it was settled with fists which made for a lot of excitement on the play ground and usually ended with a trip to the principal’s office.
In those days kids didn’t have a lot of store bought toys. We made do by making our own. We made teepees with tall grasses that grew in an open field near the parsonage, kites of all sizes and colors, from tiny ones that you would fly with a spool of thread to huge ones that required strong cord when the wind was stiff. We mixed flour and water to make the glue for the kite perimeters. Many times the string to build and fly the kites came from tying together the strings that came from feed sacks. We even learned to fly June bugs with a thread tied to their leg.
We made a special toy with a wagon wheel hoop, a Prince Albert tobacco can and strong stick about four feet long. First you would flatten the PA can, bend it into a U-shape and nail to one end of the stick. The point was to start the hoop rolling then give it a nudge when necessary with the PA/stick instrument to keep its speed sufficient for the hoop to roll and stay upright for as long as possible. What fun! Didn’t cost anything. Kids could have competition or solo and have good clean entertainment for hours.
Rubber guns were frequently a big thing with boys in those days. Not many kids had Red Ryder “shoot your eye out” BB guns. Rubber guns were faddish and required real rubber inner tubes that were not always available. Rubber guns were sawed out of boards to emulate real fire arms from pistol to rifle size. With a wooden clothes pin firmly secured to the handle of the gun for a loading pin and thin strips of rubber cut from the old inner tubes for ammunition. A lot of “wars” were lost and won. Sometimes these altercations took on the old west character of cowboys and Indians.
Although many of the childhood games and toys fluctuated in popularity, one essential item was pretty much a mainstay for most boys. That was the slingshot. Slingshots required a good fork cut just the right size from a tree limb and good rubber from non-synthetic inner tubes. Slingshots also required a lot of good ammunition which consisted of pebbles of various sizes, marbles or anything solid and small enough to fit into the leather loading pouch. A trusty slingshot and a pocket full of rocks were necessary artillery when you went hunting for birds, stray cats or any other good target. Many a boy got a raw chaffed leg or thigh from carrying a pocket full of rocks all day.
Billy Rex and I, along with many kids in those days, developed colorful language skills that were used liberally when we thought we were out of earshot of anyone who might “tell.” In short, we learned to “cuss.” We thought we were big stuff when we punctuated our speech with our newly acquired flowery, four letter word vocabulary. Those “cuss” words had power and bravado when used at the right time with the right audience. It gave us, we thought, more stature with whatever gang was around and, though degenerate, a sense of maturity and toughness. When we used profanity, one syllable words were mostly the norm. Kids seldom used G-d as a modifier. Once I slipped and took God’s name in vain and was immediately conscious stricken. I knew at once that my sinning had gone too far. At a later time my four letter renderings caught the ear of a kid that had the temerity to say for all to hear, “Listen to Wendell. And his dad is a preacher.” That was a convicting statement expressed by someone that didn’t have any idea how it impacted me. I felt lower than a snake. The fun and stature had vanished from “cussing” and I soon admitted to myself, I was on the wrong track and must change my sinful ways. My behavior, I realized, was a shame to my parents. From that time on my conscience rose up within me when I was tempted to revert to my errant profane path.
As I have already mentioned Billy Rex and I were as thick as fleas on a hound dog so there weren’t many days that we weren’t together at sometime or another. Much of that was our times together at church. That included Sunday School, preaching service, Vacation Bible School, revival meetings, weddings, funerals, etc. etc. Mrs. Bustin was our never to be forgotten VBS teacher. She could make Bible stories come to life with her cut-out flannel graph lessons. Bill’s precious mother, Inez, was a charter member of the Batesville Nazarene Church and very faithful in her service and support. So a lot of mine and Billy Rex’s togetherness was centered in the church. What we learned and experienced within the close relations in the church were primary factors in mitigating and correcting our spiritual poverty and hidden transgressions.
One particular experience that impacted Billy and me was in a revival meeting. I believe we were nine or ten years old at the time. A revival meeting in those days consisted of evangelistic services held every evening for up to ten days, sometimes two weeks. So a lot of church going took place during a revival meeting.
One night Bill and I were sitting together during a revival service. I don’t remember the evangelist’s message, but Bill and I simultaneously felt strongly convicted of our sinful and lost estate. When the altar call was given Bill and I went forward together and knelt at the altar. I don’t remember my prayer exactly, but I believe the essence of our prayers was centered in the words of Jesus in John 3:16. Jesus says that anyone who comes to Him for salvation must come as a little child simply believing and trusting Him for eternal life, nothing more. Not complicated. Children have little knowledge of the teachings of Scripture or church doctrine, etc., etc., however, the faith and belief of a child or mentally handicapped person is just as efficacious for receiving God’s gift of everlasting life as those with brilliant intellects.
After we had both prayed and got up from the altar I remember Billy Rex, with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes, saying to me as clearly as if it were today, “I feel so clean inside.” Even after 70 plus years, Bill’s sincere and truthful statement is unforgettable. At that time I believe we were “born again” and received the gift of everlasting life which can never be lost.
In concluding this vignette of the friendship of Bill and I during our young years, I must say a few words about Inez and Wes who were closely connected with and related to the Hardy and Rose Williams family. I felt as close and related to all of them as I did of any of my blood relatives. During my four years in Batesville, Bill was an only child. Annette was born after our family moved to Paragould in September of 1948. I spent overnight with Bill numerous times during those four years. During my overnighters with Bill, after we went to bed we stayed awake as long as we could and shared all sorts of exciting conversations. When the weather was such that we could not take advantage of the great outdoors we were in his home playing floor and table games — puzzles, checkers, tiddle-de-winks, etc., etc. Once when I was with Bill before Christmas he had to show me where all of his Christmas presents were hidden. He carefully put them all back in place so Inez wouldn’t suspect they had been found.
I ate a lot of Inez’s good cooking in those memorable days. She made the most delicious breakfasts after our overnighters. I thought Inez was as pretty and sweet as an angel. She treated everyone with such respect and compassion. I could tell she liked for Bill and I to be together. I never felt unwelcome. Wes was the macho type and around the house he usually wore as his top an undershirt with straps over the shoulders revealing his big biceps and triceps. Bill and I were always impressed with Wes’s physique and wanted to work on ours to emulate his father.
Once Wes and Inez took Bill and I on an overnight camping trip on a large creek a few miles north of Batesville. At the time Wes had a Model A truck with cover over the bed. During night it came a big storm with torrents of rain. To best of my memory we sheltered in the truck all night. In the morning the normally peaceful creek was forcefully rolling out of its banks. We were fortunate that our camp was far enough back on the bank that we were not swept away in the flood. However, the sun came out and Inez fixed us a good breakfast on the bank of the creek–good memories.
As I have already mentioned, we moved from Batesville in September in 1948. My time with Bill was very limited thereafter. However, my older sister, June, had married Dale Williams, the oldest son of Hardy and Rose, so on a few occasions through the junior and high school years we were back in Batesville for short visits. My first place to go when we were back in Batesville was to Bill’s house. We would always pick up where we left off and he always was ready to share his adventures that had taken place during our separation. During college and early marriage years we pretty much lost contact except for minimal correspondence and news through Ernest Lynn and Lucy Williams. Once when his daughter was a teenager I made a special trip to Batesville to talk with Bill about a special project for the City of Batesville that Bill was responsible for, the recycling/energy plant. We were considering a similar plant for Marshall at the time and I was part of those looking at our options.
Of course I was shocked and saddened by Bill’s untimely and unexpected passing. I was certainly grateful that I was able to attend his funeral. I have wished many times that I had a copy of Roberta Bustin’s eulogy of Bill. I was so glad she was the one chosen to share her thoughts about Bill’s life. No one was more capable.
I will be 83 years old next month and regret that it has taken me so long to put my thoughts in writing of what Bill and his boyhood friendship and family meant to me. Although our close association was limited to our childhood years, I have always counted Bill as one of my treasured friends.
Written by Wendell Jones
January, 2019
