THE UNADILLA YEARS

 

MOVING FURNITURE AND DIRT 

When we moved from Sumter, SC to Unadilla, GA in 1960 I got to ride with the tractor trailer driver who was helping us move.  I remember that it was a fun drive, and the driver was a pleasant fellow my dad knew.  It was a rainy night when we arrived in Unadilla.  Dad had asked the driver to bring me to the Langston’s Cafe on Main Street to meet him.  I still remember seeing my dad waiting for me near the big window inside the café and smiling when he saw us pull up in the big truck.  He had rented a large farmhouse just outside of town for us to live in.

 

There were two horses on the farm, and we could ride them anytime we wanted.  My sister Linda was a horse enthusiast and thoroughly enjoyed the easy access to the horses. The house had two stories with a big staircase that transported you from one level to the next and a banister on the staircase that was fun to slide down on.  Daddy would often bring us large pieces of paper from his office that I think were old construction blueprints.  We would turn the paper over to the blank side and draw pictures then color them.  It was in this house that I remember first seeing the Mickey Mouse Club show on our TV set and dreaming of going to California to visit Disneyland someday. The kitchen in the farmhouse was very rustic and had a camp stove to cook on that Mama would have to add fuel then pump up to get it to work.  I’m sure mom was much happier with her new kitchen when we moved into a more modern brick home in town a short time later.

 

The reason we were in Unadilla is that my dad worked for a construction company that was building highways nearby.  As the son of the “Boss” I had certain privileges that most boys my age did not have such as riding various pieces of heavy earthmoving equipment with the operators.  One of my favorite machine operators was a man named “Red”.  Red was a rough looking man that always took his hat off when he was talking to my dad.  I think Red had a drinking problem because I overheard talk about my dad getting him out of jail a few times.  Although Red had personal problems, he was considered an excellent machine operator and was very kindhearted toward my dad and our family.

 

Once Red had been hunting and brought us a couple of big fox squirrels he had shot.  My mom was gracious and thanked him for his thoughtfulness, but I don’t remember eating the squirrels as that was a food we never had!  One Saturday I went to the job site with dad, and he arranged for me to ride with Red for the day.  Red was operating a big bulldozer and taught me to operate the blade lift and angle levers.  I was fascinated by the power of the bulldozer, the smell of freshly dug earth and diesel fuel.  Even though the ride was noisy and bumpy I managed to somehow fall sound asleep and lean over on Red at some point in the day.  When my dad came by to check on me he said Red had his big arm around me holding me safely on the big seat as we moved tons of earth together.

 THE PONY CART AND BROKEN GLASS 

When we lived in Unadilla, Georgia I had a friend who owned a pony and surrey cart that we were allowed to drive around town and out to his family’s farm.  His dad owned the Sinclair gas station in Unadilla and was also a family friend of ours.  We would often ride the pony cart around town enjoying the unique freedom and the bit of notoriety in travel it gave us.  There were blackberry bushes on the dirt road leading back to their farm and we would often stop and pick some to eat as well as share with the pony.  His dad’s Sinclair gas station had a dinosaur as the mascot and there was a big plastic blow up dinosaur at the station. Sometimes we would play punching bag with it when we stopped by for the free Coca-Colas his dad would give us. I don’t remember the pony’s name, but it was a gentle animal and well trained. It would even walk backwards pushing the pony cart in reverse when needed.

 

 

One day when I was in the 4^th grade at the elementary school in Unadilla a group of us boys were playing Army taking cover from the enemy by jumping down into a deep ditch on the edge of the school playground.  Unfortunately, I landed on a broken bottle and cut my right wrist on a piece of the broken glass.  I don’t remember it being very painful, but it did bleed profusely. When I walked up to my teacher to show her, she got really excited and immediately took me to the school nurse who also seemed a bit alarmed over the copious amounts of blood pouring out of my wound.  I don’t remember a lot more about that incident, but I still have the scar on my right wrist. After this accident I tried to look a little closer before jumping into ditches!

DONKEY BASKETBALL 

Unadilla was the only the place I ever saw a donkey basketball game.  The game was some type of fund raiser for a civic group and various men from town were to ride donkeys while playing a basketball game.  

 

On the night of the game a man who owned the trained donkeys pulled up to the Unadilla High School Gymnasium in a large trailer.  We watched as the donkeys were led out of the trailer and over to a shady area under a big tree where they were given water and hay.  Each of the donkeys had what looked like rubber shoes on to prevent any damage to the hardwood floor of the gym. After we took our place in the stands the riders were introduced along with the names of their donkeys.  It was funny to watch the different men in town (the school principal, the policeman, the grocer…) get assigned to their donkeys with names like “Dynamite”, “TNT” and “Gunpowder” and see the reactions of the men and the laughter of the townspeople in the stands.  

 

The idea of the game was that the player had to ride his donkey down the court and shoot the basketball while riding the donkey.  Naturally, the donkeys were trained to buck and bray, and more than one player landed on the floor!  I don’t remember who won or even if anyone scored but it was a fun evening in the small South Georgia town of Unadilla because I was with my dad, we ate popcorn and had fun together.

 TARGET SHOOTING GONE BAD

While we lived in Unadilla, Georgia I would often ride my bike out to the office trailer where my dad’s office was, and we would shoot his .22 caliber rifle at targets.  The .22 was a semi-automatic and fun to shoot at the various cardboard boxes, cans, and dirt clods we would set up as targets.  Dad was always very safety conscious about the rifle and taught me to always assume it was loaded and never point it at anyone or anything you didn’t intend to shoot.  He was a good shot and taught me how to shoot accurately by holding my breath and slowly squeezing the trigger to avoid jerking the rifle off target. Dad had been in the Marine Corps Infantry during World War Two and had served in the South Pacific fighting the Japanese.  He carried a Browning automatic rifle and was involved in many sad and brutal fire fights.  As a little kid I once asked him if he ever shot anyone during the war.  I still remember the far-off painful look in his eyes as he said, “Well, I returned fire”.  I never asked that question again.

 

 

It was during my Unadilla years that I got my first BB gun, a Daisy pump.  I had asked for one for a while and was thrilled the day I was given it.  My instructions were the same as what I had been taught with the .22 rifle. Always assume it’s loaded; never point it at anyone and one more rule, DON’T SHOOT ANY BIRDS!  I practiced shooting targets for a few days and got to be a pretty good shot.  My friend next door also had a BB gun, so we had target shooting contests.  One afternoon my friend and I were standing in my front yard and a big noisy blue jay landed in a tree next to us.  The temptation to shoot was too much for my friend so he cocked his BB gun and shot at the blue jay but missed.  Not to be outdone and to prove I was the better shot I cocked my BB gun and shot.

 

 There have been many times in my life where I have done something and then was immediately sorry I had done it, this was one of those times.  As my BB found its mark the blue jay tumbled out of the tree and fell into the driveway just in time for my dad to pull in from work.  My friend suddenly decided it was time for him to go home and left abruptly.  With the evidence dead in front of me it was clear I had broken one of the main rules of having a BB gun.  After a discussion about gun rules with my dad my new BB gun stayed in his closet for a while and my friend next door left his at home when he came over to play.

TORNADO! 

During March of 1961, when I was 9 years old, we had a magnitude 3 tornado come through our town, Unadilla, Georgia.  I remember that we were home and Mama had us open all the windows in the house before the storm hit as that was the custom of the day.  It was thought that if you could keep the air pressure inside of the house equal to the tornado’s low pressure as possible then maybe your house would not “implode” and collapse on you!

 

The sky got black it was so dark and then heavy rain began falling as the wind speed increased and began twirling the tops of the big pecan trees in our yard.  Several limbs got torn off and fell into our yard then the wind increased to a “howling” sound, and we all gathered under the kitchen table for cover in case the house collapsed.  The wind continued to “howl” for what seemed like a long time but was probably just a few minutes.  At one point the wind almost stopped, and the sun shone through a big hole in the clouds.  Mama allowed us to scamper out from under the table for a minute and we gingerly stepped out the back door and onto our concrete patio.  The tornado apparently came right by our house because when I looked up, I saw thick, dark clouds swirling around in a circle and the sun was shining through the middle!

 

We did not stay outside long as the backside of the storm came quickly, and we resumed our emergency positions under the kitchen table. More rain and wind came through and then it was over.  There were limbs and trees blown down, people’s roofs were torn off and cars had broken glass, but we were safe.

 

As news of the town came in by neighbors and radio, we heard that the principal of the local school had been killed when something fell on him and the entire roof of our church, Unadilla Baptist Church, had been blown off with much damage to the interior of the building.  Unadilla has had over 83 magnitude 2 or higher tornados since 1953 so apparently is in a tornado alley of sorts.

CHICKENS AND LEAVES 

At some time during our Unadilla years, whether before or after the tornado I do not remember, we had pet chickens.  My Dad built a chicken coup behind the storage building in the back yard and we got several chickens.  I recall that they were not particularly friendly to little boys and would not hesitate to peck or scratch me when I would try to pick them up. Each of us Cheek kids claimed one as a pet and named it.  I think my two big sisters, Linda, and Cathy, were more interested in having a pet chicken than I was as they would dote on theirs, but I just adopted a survival mentality whenever it was my turn to feed and water the chickens.  Occasionally daddy would trim the chicken’s wings with scissors a little bit so they would not be able to fly out of the coup.  

 

The chickens got bigger and bigger so it was not too long before our parents decided we should cook one.  I was called on to help catch one but after being repeatedly pecked and scratched was unsuccessful so when Daddy came home, he caught one and prepared it for cooking.  Of course, Linda and Cathy claimed we were eating a pet and ate around the bird on their plate, but I don’t recall it slowing me down any. “This one won’t peck or scratch me again” I thought as I doubly enjoyed my meal.

 

 

Our parents had given us a big red Radio Flyer wagon and we used it to play pioneer with.  We enjoyed pretending it was our covered wagon as we “headed west” across our yard.  Mama sewed a cover for us, and Daddy built us a frame, so we actually had a real covered wagon to play with.  We would take turns being the horse and pulling it around with other kids inside as we discovered the Wild West of our neighborhood together.

 

Sometimes I would take the cover off the wagon and pretend I was driving a crane or backhoe using the tongue of the wagon as the lifting/digging part.  Making all kinds of engine noises with my mouth I would sit in the wagon and slowly dig holes in the yard with the scooper, or wagon handle.  I suppose the experiences I had riding on real earth moving equipment carried over into my play time.  My parents allowed me to dig multiple holes in our yard but would also remind me to fill them back in when I was through.

 

We also used the wagon to haul leaves as we raked. We had several large pecan trees in our yard so there was no shortage of leaves to rake that fall. Sometimes dad would rake the leaves into a big pile for us kids to take turns running and jumping into the pile. Occasionally dad would make a really tall pile of leaves and jump in himself closely followed by a gaggle of laughing children piling on for the fun of it.

 

GOING TO CHURCH IN UNADILLA

Most Sundays we would attend the Unadilla Baptist Church where a man called Brother Hosea was the pastor.  I remember he was an older man who seemed to like kids and smiled a lot before and after preaching services but not much during.  I suppose he would have been considered a hell fire and brimstone type of preacher.  He would get very excited and emphatic about his sermons and had rather animated actions in the pulpit.  I did not see it but was told that one time while he was preaching, he had a heart attack and fell down in the pulpit.  The congregation first thought it was a sermon illustration of some kind but after a few minutes one of the deacons eased over to him and asked if he was alright.  Not getting any reply from him someone called an ambulance.  He lived to preach again but I think he was a little more reserved after that.  

 

Most Sunday nights we would attend B.T.U., Baptist Training Union, in a basement classroom of the church.  It was similar to Sunday school but not as well attended.  Since there were fewer people involved different age groups of people usually met together so it was normal to have little kids in the same B.T.U class with adults.  There was a Training Union booklet with different Bible topics and Bible studies in it that were to be shared during the classes.  The lessons were divided into several parts and the parts would be assigned to different people who would then present them the following Sunday.  It was generally frowned upon if you just read your part rather than telling it in your own words.  

 

One week I was assigned a part to present the following Sunday night.  Having never made any presentation in front of adults, much less in a church setting, I was rather apprehensive about how this would work out.  All week long I read through my lesson part and got my family to be test subjects on my presentation.  Nervous as I was, I was also determined not to just stand up and read my part as I had seen some other folks do.  Sunday night came and B.T.U started.  The lesson progressed along until it was my turn to speak in front of everyone.  I was called on and walked up to the big podium, positioned myself behind it and looked up only to see the back of the podium.  I was so short that the podium was taller than I was!  A few muffled giggles went around the room, and I even began to smirk a bit at my unexpected situation.  Since the podium was not adjustable, I just stepped to the side and launched into my part, without reading it.  After making my 2-minute contribution to the subject of the night I found my way back to my seat amid congratulatory comments from the people around me.  After that experience I was never afraid of public speaking again.

THE MURDEROUS PEACOCK IN THE DARK 

Just down the street from our house in Unadilla was a nursery garden.  The nice man who owned it was always ready to show me his latest flowers or shrubbery. He also had peacocks in a pen toward the back of the nursery he would get manure fertilizer from.  The peacocks would make odd noises all during the night and day.  The nursery was never actually closed as the owner allowed people to walk through it anytime, they wanted.  It had several walkways and most of them were a bit overgrown with vines and shrubbery hanging into the path that would brush up against me when I walked through.

 

One night I had been at a friend’s house down the street catching lightning bugs in the dark.  When it was time to leave, I started walking home.  My path took me by the nursery where it was very dark as there were no streetlights in that section of the street.  About the time I got in front of the nursery the peacock decided to let out one of his very loud odd sounds.  Even though I had heard the peacocks before it was never at night, in the darkest part of our street when I was alone.  I began to walk faster, and it seemed like there was someone following me in the shadows.  I did not want to turn around and look as I thought that would slow me down and possibly confirm my growing fear of being stalked by some vicious creature that made peacock noises.  

 

My fast walk turned into a run, then a faster run then into a full-blown run-for-my-life run as I was certain I was about to be grabbed and would come to some horrible end.  As I got to my neighbor’s yard I cut across their driveway and slid into our carport out of breath.  Hah, I had outrun my certain demise and now just let that creature try to attack me in my own carport where I had my family to protect me!  Turning around I saw nothing but still sneered into the dark just in case it was hiding out there.  “You don’t scare me” I said under my breath as I opened the door and let myself safely into our home. Sometimes little boys’ imaginations can run wild as mine did that night!

PLEASE DON'T TAKE OUR MAMA TO JAIL!

In 1960 we lived in Unadilla, Georgia.  We would occasionally take trips back to Greensboro, NC to visit family. After one visit to Greensboro we headed back to Unadilla in our station wagon. Dad had to work and had not gone on this trip so mom was driving. We had all four Cheek kids, one of our McPherson cousins, our little dog Tippy and mom in the car. It was warm so we had the windows rolled down to let the breeze in. I often enjoyed sticking my hand out of the car window and pretending it was an airplane flying through the air as the wind rushed past our car.

  As we passed a county line somewhere in South Georgia a state trooper pulled out from behind a big road sign, turned on his siren and lights and pulled us over. After he checked mom’s license he said she had been speeding and began writing out a speeding ticket. It was not unusual for mom to be speeding as she usually drove fast whenever she drove. Just as the officer was finishing writing the speeding ticket a second car pulled up behind the patrol car. A large, fat man was behind the wheel of that car and he had a big grin on his face. The officer then explained that mom was guilty of speeding and would have to pay a large cash fine on the spot or go to jail.

At this point mom got out of our car and asked the officer why she had to pay cash right now and he said it was the law in that county. Mom had figured out that the County Magistrate was the guy that had pulled up behind the patrol car and that the officer and the magistrate were probably just going to split the money and tear up the ticket. Mom said she was not going to pay her fine in cash to him. The officer looked back at the guy in the other car and said well he was just going to have to arrest her. Mom said to go ahead and held her wrists out for him to put handcuffs on. The officer started stammering something as all of us Cheek kids leaned out the car windows and started crying “please don’t take our mama to jail” over and over again. The officer, obviously flustered, said he needed to check with someone and walked back to the magistrate’s car.

 After a brief conversation the officer walked back to mom and said he would allow her to just mail the fine back this time. After writing mom a second, and real, ticket mom got back into our car and drove off. She talked to us to be sure we had calmed down and explained that it was just a small town racket to make money off of people and she was not going to go along with it.

I remember my mom and dad talking about it later and dad mailing a check back to the town to cover the ticket. To my knowledge my mom was never actually arrested for anything. I’m not really sure what would have happened if the officer had arrested mom and taken her in but I’m sure it would have made for another interesting story.

MOPEDS AND SMILES

When we lived in Unadilla my two older sisters, Linda and Cathy were in the 8^th and 6^th grades respectively. Being very attractive girls they had several neighborhood boys that would come over to our house on their mopeds and motor scooters to visit. These young boys would often do things to show off to get my sisters attention and maybe even a smile. I enjoyed getting rides on their mopeds and looking at the mechanisms that made them go.

 

There seemed to be a bit of rivalry between the boys not only for who could get my sisters to talk them but also who had the most powerful moped. As I recall they all looked the same and probably came from the same store in Unadilla with one exception. One boy had an older model scooter that his dad had ridden as a kid. When I boastfully said that I could hold back any of the mopeds from taking off the boys took the challenge to heart.

 

They took turns letting me grab the back frame of their mopeds then twisted the throttle wide open to see if they could pull off away from me. I was successful in holding back all of the mopeds from moving then the boy with the old scooter pulled into position for his try. I grabbed the back of the scooter and he twisted the throttle open pulling me across the yard like I was on skis as I held on. The scooter boy won the test and then gave me a nice long ride around town on his scooter before taking me back home. My sisters smiled at him when he brought me back and I’m sure he thought his efforts were well rewarded both in the attention my sisters showed him as well as the notoriety he gained for his powerful motor scooter.

SIMONE

While we lived in Unadilla, Georgia our neighbor on the left side of our house was a lady who had her niece living with her.  The niece’s name was Simone who was close to my age but taller than me.  Simone said that her name was French, and she seemed very proud of it. Simone and I rode bicycles around sometimes and she would often talk about other places she had been or was planning to go.  Places that seemed better to her than where she was now even though she was always complimentary about her aunt. I suppose that a young girl living with her aunt in South Georgia might cling to her French name as a way of identifying her as a person who was just passing through and was headed on to bigger and better things in her life.

 

 Apparently there had been an unfortunate situation that caused Simone to have to live with her aunt instead of being with her parents.  I never asked for details, but Simone seemed sad a lot even though her aunt always seemed very loving and kind toward her and us. She was still living with her aunt when we moved from Unadilla, and I never heard of her again. I hope she found those better things in her life as she grew older.