The Summer of 1969 Pt. 01

1969 The Summer of My Life

I was doing lunch dishes as I watched him make the long walk up my drive, the dust billowing from under his shoes with every step. It reminded me of when I was a girl and Uncle Clarence would let me take the reins as we rode the hay wagon. I would be mesmerized as I watched their hooves hit the ground, a puff of dust flew each time a hoof landed. With Uncle Clarence behind me I would smile broadly as I felt the tug of the reins, the feeling I had as a nine year old girl controlling all that power, controlling the four thousand plus pounds harnessed to that wagon. King and Queen, as we had named them, knew exactly where we were going, I could have dropped the reins and they would have still ended up in the hay mow.

Our farm and Uncle Clarence's were the result of the original 40 acres and a mule promised to emancipated slaves after the Civil War. Their granddad settled in Northern Missouri where he eeked out a living to start with, but through hard work and frugality he became a successful dairy farmer. By the time my granddad had taken over the farm a local creamery wanted to buy more milk for cheese production, my granddad took the opportunity and became even more successful. As a little girl he told me stories about how negroes weren't respected much in those days, but if you worked hard and paid your way, most of the time you were left alone.

Fond memories of days gone by, it was Clarence who kept my old man on the somewhat straight and narrow, as straight and narrow as he could be, I guess. My dad was a mean resentful drunk, always blaming his parents for needing him on the farm, the Army for rejecting him for duty at the onset of WW2 because he needed a double hernia operation, and the list went on, nothing was ever his fault. The depression years seemed to rob him of any civility he once possessed. He got himself off the bottle a few years, during that time Alice Barnes foolishly married him, they had me in '32 and she was gone within five years.

By gone I mean dead. Her fall from the top of the hay mow was ruled an accidental death, but everyone except the law figured he'd gotten tired of her trying to make him tow the line and got rid of her. Nobody cared much about a negro woman dying anyway, not in 1937. As miserable as my old man was, I have to credit him with making sure every penny we had was pinched until Lincoln screamed. After the depression years he swore he'd never go without again.

The farm was paid for, there was money in the bank, and we owed no one other than to pay taxes each year. He drank at night, but as soon as he sobered in the morning, he worked hard all day. There were no black taverns in our town, but moonshine was cheap and there was an abundance of it. When I was a girl he wasn't as bad as he was when I entered my teens. Our farm was just a bit over two miles from town, there was a one room school for negro children a half mile or so from us, I walked it every day wet or dry.

Had it not been for Uncle Clarence and Aunt Mary either the old man or I would have been in prison. Clarence was dad's younger brother and farmed the next place up the road, hence he or Mary were at our farm every day. Black and white marriages were not something to be tolerated in those days, Mary was Mexican and somehow that was okay, I never have figured that out.

My aunt was livid when I told her he made me undress, bathe, and dress while he watched. I wasn't much to look at as a young lady, but he apparently got his jollies making me disrobe and dress in front of him. The day I told her I should have been off to school already but instead was struggling to milk by myself. She asked what was going on, I told her he was still drunk and asleep. I broke down crying, telling her in between sobs what he made me do when I bathed and that he was so drunk the night before he tried to get in my bed until I kicked him in the groin causing him to stumble off to his room.

"That son of a bitch. This ends now, I'm not going to be responsible for a 13 year old being raped because I did nothing to stop it." Aunt Mary yelled.

Mary quickly fetched Clarence who returned with an axe handle. Together we went into the house, Mary went to the sink and got the old man's straight razor. He was asleep on his back as she pulled the sheet down revealing his naked body, as she looked at Clarence, he nodded and prepared to beat him if need be. Aunt Mary grabbed his dick, stroked it a few times until it began to stiffen as pa was waking. She had that razor at the base of his dick and when he flinched it nicked the skin enough to make him cry out. With his dick in her hand and the razor about to slice it off she spoke.

"Listen to me, you filthy bastard. You will never touch this girl or make her strip for you again. If I find you did, I'll come back and cut your dick off, then I'll shove it down your throat and watch you choke to death on it."

As she pressed on the razor enough to cause him pain he said he'd never touch me again.

"Good, and this cut on your dick, that will remind you every time you pull it out to piss for the next month."

My world changed from that day on. He kept his distance from me at all times, which meant I also never received affection of any kind other than from Clarence and Mary. I was harnessing the team by myself and taking a load of corn into the feed mill every other week, then do what shopping we needed to do while they ground and sacked it. My shopping generally consisted of flour, sugar, salt, bacon and ham, everything else we took care of or didn't use. We had chickens and raised a few hogs for eating, it was simply easier to buy bacon and ham instead of making it ourselves. The boys at the mill would load the wagon for me and I'd head home. Everyone in town knew I always paid cash on the spot, I never asked for credit, they also knew he was a drunk, they seemed to feel more comfortable dealing with me.

I left school in '48, the year I turned 16, it was fairly common in those days. I had my reading, writing and arithmetic well in hand, though I seemed gifted dealing with numbers, no way was this colored girl ever going to college. I was needed at home and made the decision to stop school. Electricity was brought to our valley in '49 and we connected immediately. No more stinky dirty lanterns, we had lights and power when and where we needed it. I was now doing all the household chores as well as helping milk, at least I talked him into buying me a wringer washer in 1950, that way I didn't have to do it all by hand.

Hanging clothes never bothered me but washing with a scrub board and a hand wringer was a tedious, strenuous job. He bitched and complained about the cost, but I badgered and carried on until he finally broke loose of $45 at an estate sale, it was two years old, but it worked and that's all that mattered to me. Forty five dollars doesn't sound like much, until you consider a dozen eggs was $.60, a loaf of bread $.14, a gallon of milk was $.82, gasoline was $.19 a gallon, pumpkins were a nickel apiece and apples three for a nickel. Our yearly income was between $1800 and $2200 depending on what milk prices were, so $45 was a lot of money.

When I turned 18 he included my name on the milk checks from the creamery, with my knowledge of numbers I took care of the finances anyway, it was as if he knew he wasn't long for this world. With me home all the time we bought six more cows, two Universal milking buckets and a vacuum pump. I no longer had to milk by hand, I thought it was the best thing since peanut butter. With the additional money from the six cows we bought another four bringing our milking herd to a total of 30, a good size herd in 1950. Our barn had room for forty, but both he and I felt that was too much at the time. I had reached the age of 19 when he keeled over dead plowing with a team of mules. Clarence, Mary and I buried him, I became the sole owner of our property and set about trying to milk 30 cows on my own.

The very first major thing I did after all the probate crap was over is have indoor plumbing installed. No more plunking my bare bottom on ice cold wood in the winter and having to tolerate the stifling heat inside the outhouse in the summer. With a well I didn't have to rely on the windmill 100%, if we had no breeze for three or four days, I would water the livestock using the well pump instead of the hand pump. I didn't have a shower to start with, but I sure loved my bathtub and water heater.

Clarence and Mary had three boys, the oldest 15, they sent him to work with me for a season and between the two of us we got it done. Clarence had always planted and harvested our crops, I continued hiring him to do so instead of buying a bunch of costly machinery. When I was 22, I bought what was called a step saver, meaning I would no longer have to carry the bucket all the way to the milk house, pour it in the strainer and walk back to milk the next cow. I could pour the milk in the step saver and keep on milking while the milk went directly into the bulk tank.

I never had money for clothes when I was younger and never caught the attention of boys, once I was old enough to buy clothes, I wasn't all that interested anymore. I wasn't skinny, but I had no fat either, I had an average every day body with rock hard muscles. There were a few guys called on me after pa died, but they only wanted to bed me, neither of those relationships lasted more than a few weeks. I subscribed myself to the fact that even though I had a nice body and was attractive when I applied myself, I was probably going to be a spinster milking cows until I was no longer able to. As the years progressed, I hired farm hands, bought a few pieces of machinery to spread manure, bale hay and minor things like that. The rest I still hired Uncle Clarence and his boys to do. I still used the horses and wagon for the feed mill and what shopping I did, it was something of the old ways I couldn't let go.

I was one of the first in our county to install a pipeline milking system in 1964, cutting my workload in half during milking. I put in a 400 bulk gallon tank thinking it was huge, little did I know the future would dictate a larger one. Having hired hands and not wanting them in my house alone, I built a small bunk house with a shower stall, a commode and a sink. I fed them at the main house and if they wanted to watch one of the three channels on TV, they were welcome to do so until 9, then they went to the bunkhouse. I didn't tolerate drinking on the farm, and if someone did, they were fired on the spot.

I had decided somewhere around 30 that I needed to start looking like a girl if I was ever to find someone as a life mate. I had the beauty shop ladies help me with my frizzy hair, styling it and showing me how to take care of it. I bought some nicer jeans to wear to town instead of the bibs that normally covered my 5'7" frame. I still liked to take the corn into the mill with the horses, it was almost expected of me, that and pulling somebodies float in the Memorial Day and Fourth of July parades. I began wearing nicer clothes on those feed trips, my new clothes showed off my body and the more I took care of myself the better I felt. I realized I had a nice figure and a pretty face when I took the time needed to bathe quickly and change from farm clothes.

The housing boom reached our area in the mid-sixties, subdivisions going up everywhere. Houses were relatively cheap, a simple three bedroom ranch was about $8000. In '67 I had a new place built with a separate bunk house area off the end of the garage. When it was finished, I invited our local volunteer fire department to come burn the old house and bunk cabin as a training exercise. Neighbors came from all over the valley to see it go up in flames.

All those years and little had changed. Here I was in the early summer in 1969 watching yet another guy trudge up the driveway. Vietnam was supposedly coming to an end, but you'd never know it listening to the news. I had cousins who returned from WW2 batshit crazy, I was hoping he wasn't like them.

I figured him for a vet since he carried a duffle bag over his shoulder. I'd tried a few vets over the past few years, but they typically knew nothing about a dairy farm, it was easier to do it all myself than train them, only to have them leave when they found an easier job. I had one guy tell me he was gonna move in my house, fuck me raw and take over the farm. I called Clarence who was in the driveway in five minutes with a double barrel pointed at the guys chest. Needless to say, he left quickly, never to be seen again.

The fella walking up the drive looked different though, he glanced at the corn along the drive, stopping once to see how the corn was progressing, (knee high by the fourth of July), then scooped up some dirt and smelled it. He was tall, I figured six feet, maybe more, shoulders that weren't necessarily broad, but they looked solid, chest muscles straining through his sweat soaked army green tee shirt, his arms matched his chest, bulging with muscle. He had longer sandy colored hair pulled back into a pony tail, his face was shaved except for a fu Manchu moustache that was at least two inches beneath his chin. I thought it looked kind of cool.

I met him on the porch, extending my hand to greet him, telling him my name was Addie Mae.

"Pleased to meet you ma'am, names Orin. Lady at the feed mill pointed out your farm hand help wanted card and said she thought it was still open. Am I too late, did you hire someone already?"

"No Orin, I haven't. Tell me though, what makes you think you want to work on a farm. It's hard work, do you know anything about cows?"

"Born and raised on a dairy farm, had been pullin teats all my life until the Army drafted me. I been out just over a year, mostly drifting, wanted to get back to something I know and enjoy. Milkin cows and takin care of crops will be good for me ma'am."

I know he was being polite when he said pullin teats, around men he'd have likely said pullin tits. When he said that, I knew he was a farm boy, nobody else talks like that.

"You aren't a nut case are you? There's a few boys from town went to Nam and they're off there rockers. No offense, but I don't have time to babysit anyone."

"I'm fine ma'am, just tired and confused, need somewhere I'm comfortable to help sort out all this stuff in my head. They tell ya it aint no big deal, truth is, there's stuff in war you can't un-see, it's hard to know here to put it in your brain. I need to be around cows and crops, it's what I know, that'll help sooth my soul."

"Well Orin, pay isn't much. There's a bunk house with a bath off the end of the house, you'll eat with me. There's a TV in the bunk but if you want to sit in the main house until 9 I don't have a problem with that. Be in the barn at 5am, we start milking by 5:30, breakfast as soon as the cows are milked and turned out. An hour for breakfast and then chores. How we doin so far?"

"I'm right with you ma'am, sounds wonderful to me."

"You get a single Saturday and Sunday off plus one full weekend a month. You can move your stuff into the bunk right now, be in the barn by 4:30 this afternoon, you can eat supper with me after we finish milking. Oh, one more thing. Stop calling me ma'am, my name is Addie. See you in a few hours."

I showed him the bunk house, where the towels and other toiletries were and left him sitting in the stuffed chair looking like he was ready to sleep. I was putting the milkers together at 4:30 when he walked in ready for work. Seeing I was getting the milkers and wash bucket ready he walked into the barn, scraped and limed the alley and came back to carry in two of the milkers. I turned on the vacuum pump and strolled down the alley to the far end with the remaining milker while he quickly went back to the milk house for the wagon that held the bucket of hot water and paper towels.

It took him about twenty minutes to reacclimate himself with cows and the milkers, by the time we were half way through the herd he was moving along like he'd been with me forever. As I watched him I found myself thinking he just might work out, this looks promising. He's certainly a handsome guy, watching all that cuteness and muscle won't be hard getting used to. We didn't say much while we milked, as we were cleaning up and getting ready to put the pipeline into it's wash cycle I suggested he go take a shower, change and meet me for supper in an hour. I told him not to bother waiting for me to answer the door, just knock and announce himself.

Cleaned up and freshly shaven, other than his fu Manchu, his wet hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a pocket t and snug jeans I found myself staring.

"Hey Miss Addie, is something wrong with my clothes?"

"Nope, just thinking to myself you clean up nice. It'll be a welcome sight having someone around who shaves and wears clean clothes, the last guy I hired was an absolute slob. He was lazy as well, didn't break my heart a bit letting him go."

He was a polite and attentive young man, he insisted he help me clear the table and do the few dishes, asking if he could wash to get the deep grime out of his hands. He'd been working as a diesel mechanic and his hands showed the imbedded grease. Holy cow, a man who wants to wash dishes, why wasn't this lad married and having babies? Once we'd finished the dishes, he said he'd like to excuse himself, he hadn't had a decent night sleep in over a week and was anxious to crawl into a bed. I hollered "five o'clock" as he walked out the door.

He was there bright and early the next morning and each morning thereafter. We'd have breakfast and then tend to the rest of the days chores, while I'd be watching the cows to see if any were in heat he'd be cleaning the barn and spreading manure, from there on we'd get busy with all the other things there is to do every day when you milk cows. I had a Farmall 806 I'd bought cheap at an auction, the fact that only a few others and me were bidding on it should have clued me in. It never ran properly so I parked it in the machine shed telling myself I'd get it fixed one of these days.

Orin asked about the 806 in the shed, wondering why a 90 horse tractor was sitting idle. I explained the situation and my procrastination, he told me he'd look at it if I didn't mind. I was all for anything he could do to help. We finished early that day, several cows had dried and we were waiting for the next batch to freshen, he asked if I minded him taking the rest of the day looking at the tractor. He sauntered across the yard mid-afternoon looking damned proud of himself. I have to admit, for a man he looked inviting, he'd gotten rid of the shirt and his jeans were slouched a bit in the front directly beneath his abs.

Hmmm, for a white boy he is looking mighty inviting. I felt a rush of excitement flutter through my chest as I watched him, almost like I was gonna lose my breath. I noticed two star shaped scars in his upper chest wondering if those had been bullet holes.

"You're looking like the cat who swallowed the canary Orin. Can I assume you have good news?"

"Yes Miss Addie you can. A bunch of the fuel injectors are plugged, I'm surprised it started much less ran. It may have started out as one or two, but now it's more. It's an easy and inexpensive fix, there's an IH dealer over in Warren, maybe we could call and see if they have them in stock. If they do, it's supposed to rain tomorrow, you think we could run over there and get them?"

"I think that would work out, we can go right after morning chores, get a bite to eat in Warren and head back for milking. Would it be wise to replace them all, you know, instead of maybe having others plug later on?"

"Yep, replacing all of them now would be the best choice. I'll drain what diesel is in the tank now and put fresh in, then we shouldn't have to be concerned about messing up the new ones with contaminated fuel."