I drove over to Charlie’s Truck Stop this past week to pick up a box of crackers and a couple cans of chicken soup. As I parked beside the store, I was thinking of several other items I could buy on this visit. It is getting so I purchase most of the stuff I need at Charlie’s. Time was I would get the groceries for the week at one of the supermarkets in Corinth and run over to Charlie’s to grab something quick. Nowadays it seems I can find everything I need at Charlie’s and save myself the drive into town. A good many of the folks hereabout buy all their grocery and farm items at Charlie’s and only drive into Corinth or Selmer if they are looking to buy some clothing or building supplies. Jake carries most anything else a person is likely to need. It’s truly amazing the variety of useful things Jake keeps in that store.
I went inside and saw the Reverend Johnson over by the pot belly stove with Harry Biggers. Harry is the son of old Charlie Biggers, the man who owned the store back when I was growing up. Harry lived in Memphis for years, but recently decided to move back to this area. He said he was tired of city life and wanted to live at a slower pace. Harry bought the house where Mister Johnson lived up until he died. We all called him Mister Johnson and never knew if he had a regular name until his brother, the Reverend, showed up one day. Since the Reverend had already made arrangements to buy Miss Nelda Ramer’s old house back of the store, the Reverend was of a mind to sell his brother’s house to Harry. The stipulation was Harry needed to agree to take care of the dogs that came with the place. As Harry likes dogs, there was no problem.
I walked over to join the two men. The heat from the stove felt good. We have been having some variable weather of late. It has come up like spring in the early morning and then the temperature drops to the thirties by evening. It gets so a man can’t hardly tell if he should go out in his shirt sleeves or if he should wear his coat. At the moment I had chosen to be wearing a light jacket. Harry was sporting a shirt and had his jacket tossed over one of the nail kegs that are used for seating purpose around the stove. Harry waved me over and said the Reverend was just telling about the old home place where Grandpa Johnson used to live. The Reverend’s brother had a habit of sitting beside that pot belly stove and telling stories and I guess the habit runs in the family. I pulled up a nail keg to listen.
The Reverend was saying his father was a farmer before he got into the store business. Grandpa Johnson lived a ways up the road in a log house on the spot where the house now stands where Harry lives. Every evening Grandpa would come in from work and eat supper with the boys and the family. Then he would sit around for about an hour reading the paper. Grandpa Johnson was a great reader. He kept up with what was going on in the world. After he had finished his paper, he would get up and say it was about time he was heading home. The two boys loved to stay with Grandpa and they would often ask if they could go and spend the night with him. Mostly the answer was yes and they would join him in the walk to his house.
Grandpa Johnson’s house was built in the old style with a dog trot down the center. A dog trot was an open hallway that ran from the front porch all the way to the back of the house. The dog trot allowed the evening breeze to help cool the house off in the summer. Grandpa’s house was in a sort of “L” shape with a long porch along the front. The dog trot began in the center of the porch and ran back the length of the house. As you faced the house, the room on the right was the sleeping room and it had a small wood burning stove in it for the winter. That room had stopped being used as far back as the Reverend could remember. The other side of the house had the living room up front with a fireplace. Next back was the bedroom where Grandpa slept and, behind that was the kitchen with another fireplace. The kitchen opened onto the dog trot which had become the back porch by the time it reached the kitchen length because the bedroom on the other side did not extend back so far. Grandpa would sit out on the porch outside the kitchen on a Sunday afternoon and do small mending chores or shell peas and look out over his fields. Grandpa Johnson was a farmer all his life.
When the two boys reached the house with Grandpa, they would walk up on the front porch and follow the dog trot back to the kitchen and go inside. Grandpa would ask the boys if they were still hungry to which the reply was always “Yes.” Grandpa would pull out a couple of sweet potatoes and put them in an iron skillet. He would put a lid on the skillet and place it on the hearth. Then he would pull some hot coals out and cover the skillet with the coals. It did not take long before the sweet potatoes were done. Grandpa would take the potatoes out and get fresh butter and there was never a better treat in the world. The boys would have themselves a feast. Afterward they would pile into the spare bed where Grandpa slept between the kitchen and the living room.
When the Reverend’s brother came back from the war, he was of a mind to build a house for himself. Grandpa was older by this time and the house was not in good repair. He was living most of the time with the boys’ family. The two boys talked with Grandpa and he said he would be willing to sell that house and lot if the two wanted to build a house there. The deal was signed and the two young men built the house that stands there now out of timber cut off the woodland on the farm. When the Reverend went off to school to learn to be a preacher, the house was left to the younger brother, our Mister Johnson, who lived there until he died. I had known Mister Johnson all my life. He had been one of my very best friends. But I never knew how he came to live in his house. It’s amazing what you can learn if you keep your mouth shut and just listen.
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