Grandaddy

This photo is of me and my grandfather on my mother's side. We called him "Grandaddy" and we called our other grandfather "Papa." Grandaddy, whose name was Walton Joseph ("Jake") Allen was a carpenter by trade who lived most of his adult life in Starkville, MS. He died at the age of seventy-one in 1963 when I was only seven years old, but I remember him well and have lots of fond memories of time spent with him.

For instance, many times Jake, an uncle or two, and my Dad and I would go "trotline" fishing in the muddy rivers around Starkville. It was great fun for many reasons. Things like spending time with grown-up men I respected (or perhaps I should say revered). And staying up all night to check the trotlines to rebait the ones that needed it, or better yet, to help wrestle a 20-25 pound catfish to the river bank when one got on our hook. I also loved the food, the kind of junk food you eat when fishing overnight (terrible stuff for you, but a kid's delight). Perhaps my favorite thing of all about those trips was that because of all the mosquitoes around the river, Granddaddy approved of me holding a lit cigarette, which he claimed kept mosquitoes away. All the men I knew back then were heavy smokers, and I mean the hard stuff; Lucky Strikes, Marlboros, Pell Mells, etc... no filters of course. Naturally I snuck occasional puffs on my cigarette, so it burned down pretty quickly and had to be replaced numerous times throughout the night. I'm sure they all knew what was going on, and I was usually sick by morning from swallowing smoke, and eating stuff like Vienna Sausages, chips, donuts and guzzling Coke all night. But man, talk about fun!

I have lots of other great memories of my grandfather. Like going with him to get gas in his old green pick-up truck at a Billups Service Station (remember those?). Back then if you got a fill up they would sell you a toy for a dollar more. Grandaddy bought me a shiny blue wheelbarrow there one time - in fact I still have it.Jake had the rough hands of a carpenter, but was a gentle, kind man of faith. He always wore khaki work pants and shirts, and he always carried a pocket watch and a pocket knife. I can still remember his cotton-white hair and piercing blue eyes. And to this day I recall the way he smelled when he hugged me or when I climbed up in his lap. It was a wonderful mix of sawdust, cigarettes, and the sweat of a hard-working man. I miss you Grandaddy; here's to you!