My brother was born in the spring of 1936. Initially he did not do well and the reason, it was finally decided, Mother’s milk was just not enough to sustain him. My grandmother attributed the “weak milk” to the fact Mother went hungry for a couple of years prior to the birth. Whether that was the actual reason is or not is beside the point. My father had gotten work the year before with WPA so we now had some disposable income. We had moved from a shack to a farm house that rented for seven dollars a month and had acquired radio! There was even talk about getting a car. We were doing very well.
Mother made arraignments with the Phipps family to buy a container of cow’s milk every day for my brother. The Phipps were farmers with a large heard of Jersey cows. The container held three quarters of a quart of milk, and Mother paid them 35 cents a week. That was 5 cents per container. Of course the milk was raw. I remember a small amount of some commercial product called Karo being added to brother’s milk supplement. From that point in time he gained weight, and at the end of a few weeks he was a normal healthy baby.
It was my job to bring the empty container to the Phipps farm, which was about a quarter mile from our place. I would wait there and pick up a full container of milk to bring home. I made the trip every afternoon regardless of the weather. If it was a nice day Grandpa Phipps would be sitting in his rocker on the front porch.
Now, Grandpa Phipps was a Civil War veteran and had served as a Sergeant in the U.S. Cavalry. I loved to hear the story’s he told about the battles he had been involved in. To hear about a cavalry charge from someone who had actually been there was a thrill to a 10 year old. There were five major battles he had been in and he use to name them, but I have forgotten now, what they were. He talked a lot about his Army friends and about the deaths of some of them. He told stories about the things he had seen concerning slavery, which were mostly horror stories. Occasionally Mrs. Phipps, Grandpa’s Granddaughter, would overhear our conversation and admonish the old man saying, “Grandpa, please remember you’re talking to a child.” He would tell me stories that had me laughing every time I recalled them. He told me stories that caused me to tear up. I did not cry, boys my age did not cry, useless they were alone. One day he showed me his cavalry saber and let me hold it. Those were wonderful hours I spent with Grandpa Phipps. To think what he he’d been and what he’d seen and the adventures he had experiences was a wonder to a rural kid who had never been anywhere.
I remember Mrs. Phipps saying to me one day, “It’s really nice of you to sit and listen to Grandpa’s stories, We all have heard them so many times, we’re sick of them!”