I did not expect this post to be as difficult to write as I intended.
This afternoon I spoke to my Aunt Barbara Hines. Lord, I cherish that woman!
She is my Ole Miss football watching buddy. Aunt Barbara and I have seen the Ole Miss Rebels play, in person, Arkansas in 1989, Arkansas in 1991, LSU in 1996, Georgia in 1999, Kentucky in 2001, and South Carolina in 2003. The Arkansas games were in Jackson. The Kentucky game was in Lexington. The other three were glorious days in Oxford. She has returned the favor with visits to Indiana to watch the Hoosiers play Minnesota in 1994 and Penn State in 1996. Good times, I tell you.
March 4th, 1988. Oh to be 19 again! Two weeks before my 20th birthday, I worked a 3:30 to 9 shift at the now defunct Sears department store in Clarksville. After my Sears gig that night I drove to my parents’ home where, bags packed, I threw them in my parents’ mini van and drove all night to Shreveport, Louisiana.
My great-grandmother, Ila Ashley, had taken a turn for the worse in Shreveport. Grandma Ila was always a tough customer. All four foot nine inches of her. That she was ailing was something I could not process.
While in Shreveport, early in that week, we got word from Jackson, Mississippi, that my Uncle Durwood Hines was in peril also. There was only one thing to do. Point that minivan East on I-20 and get to Jackson. We did just that.
My Uncle Durwood was one of the kindest, well-mannered, Southern Gentleman you would ever meet. Always wanting to make sure all in the room were taken care of, he made a great impression on me. He loved country music. He enjoyed telling a joke and laughed as hard as the rest of us at the punch line, and on more than one occasion, I asked Uncle Durwood a question to find him asleep in his chair…sitting straight as an arrow. How I miss those days.
In the 1970s we annually had a family reunion in Forest, Mississippi at Uncle Bob and Aunt Nell’s house on Thanksgiving day. What a celebration.
Okay. To put some needed perspective on this, my mom had nine older sisters and seven brothers. W.E. and Levi Jane Hines had 17 youngun’s. We had a LARGE family reunion.
On the Friday after the family reunion, my parents and my sister and I would visit a wide array of folk in Jackson, Mississippi. There was Mr. Anderson, a great man my Mom befriended while she was in Nursing School in Jackson. There was Mrs. Prewitt, a neighbor to my Great-Great Grandparents. She complained a great deal, though she made a great raisin pie. There was Edna Bell, the house keeper for my Great-Great Grandparents. She was a precious lady there is not room for here today. Miss Doby was a step-grandparent to my Dad. Stricken by a stroke that left her speech quite limited to a few phrases…I will never forget the look on her face the day we introduced her to my little brother, Darrell, on what may have been the last time we saw her. Struggling to get the words out, she said, “I know.” She meant she knew what she was trying to say.
I’m dancing here. I need to get to the heart of the matter.
When my Mom and I got to Jackson to check on Uncle Durwood he was about to have a biopsy on his brain. He had a brain tumor.
My memory is better than most, I can tell you. I am thankful for that.
But I am still shaking writing about the last time I saw my Uncle Durwood. He said something I will never forget.
At his bedside after his biopsy, Uncle Durwood’s head was completely bandaged up. I looked at him and said, “Look at you. You look like you have a football helmet on and you’re first string.” He looked at me and smiled the best he could, “I think I’ll have to be the water boy” he faintly said. I had his hand in mine as he spoke those words. After this moment, my memory gets as cloudy as my eyes are right now. It was the sweetest good-bye I have ever been a part of.
Uncle Durwood died on April 18, 1988. I was on the phone in the Sears paint stockroom when my Mom told me over the phone. Choking up, I walked out to the loading dock, sat on some steps, and sat there for a long time.
I don’t have many regrets. I don’t. That I did not make it to Uncle Durwood’s funeral is one of them. But, I know there were plenty of folk there for Aunt Barbara. I just wish I had been one of them.
March Forth!
Speaking the rights.
Danny Johnson