Writer gets his "come-uppance"
ASHS Column for 4 26 07
Jerry Simmons

     I really got my ego pushed back to where it should be this morning when I opened the Tri-City Ledger. On the one hand, it was something great and on the other, it took me down a notch or two. I found out what the term "come-uppance" feels like.
     To give a little history, in these pages I have often extolled the popularity of my brother, Eddie. Nearly everyone in this area knows Eddie and I thought I had resigned myself to the truth I would always be Eddie’s "little brother."
     Today, I became aware that I was getting a little full of myself without really knowing it. Looking back, my work in the Historical
Society, doing this column, being recognized on the
street by the terrible picture accompanying this
column, being involved in Brewton and Escambia
County (Alabama and Florida) historical activities; all
of which have made me subconsciously think I was
overcoming the shadow of my big brother.
     People shouldn’t remember him; after all, it’s
been some 30-odd years since he lived here, nearly
a decade since he retired from teaching here, and
who knows how long it’s been since he gave up
coaching at Century High School.  
     And just look at me: besides all the wonderful
qualities I ascribed to myself above, I’ve lived here
for the last 15 years after being away for eleven and
then for some 40 years before that; in fact, I lived in
our old home place for a few years before we sold
it to the school district over two and a half years
ago. He can’t claim that recent a history – so ain’t
I the more important one?
    Nope.
    If you read Ms. Cooper’s report on (from Carver-
Century) Ms. Harrell’s school students’ hands-on
work in the property next to the school, you’ll see
where she was told that that place belonged to the
EDDIE SIMMONS family! Nothing said Jerry Simmons. What a blow! They don’t even realize it was MY home, too!
     Of course, I explained all this to Ms. Harrell and she understands better now.    
                                                        ****
     If you don’t know me, please realize I am saying much of this tongue-in-cheek, except that I still idolize my big brother. I am proud to be in his bigger-than-life shadow. He’s been strength to me over the years, except when he picked on me unmercifully when we were children. In my adult life, I’ve gone through some experiences I’d rather not talk about, and he’s always been there for me. He has been the "big brother" that I’ve needed. He is the epitome of that term. So I am happy people remember him and his name is mentioned when someone wants to use it to identify our home place.
                                                        ****
     Next week before this issue hits the newsstands, I am to speak to Ms. Harrell’s class, to tell them a little about who the people were that lived on that plot of ground. I hope to be able to communicate to them that a house – a home place – is more than just a place where people lived. It’s simply a spot on this earth where the foundations of life should be created and molded.
     That area next to the middle school is where I took my first steps; it’s where I got taken care of while recovering from rheumatic fever as a five- and six-year old. Ms. Harrell told me the children were excited to have found pieces of a broken cup, a bottle of some sort that was intact, a couple of marbles, and pieces of dishes. There was a place in the back yard that was a spot for burning trash, and that’s likely where some of these "artifacts" were found. That was the place where I got one of my worst switchings. 
     Mom was bending over to light the trash fire while I was exercising some newly discovered strength of my own. I had located my brother’s B-B gun, which had no stock on it. Just the metal end was attached to the barrel and that made it very difficult for me to cock the gun. I guess that’s why my mother didn’t worry about me with it so much.
     Well, I lucked out and was able to get the gun cocked, and pointed the gun at mom. I said, "Mama, I’m gonna shoot you," aiming at her rear. She undoubtedly did not understand me, because she didn’t object, so I pulled the trigger.
     My mother never was a large woman, but at close range, there was no way I could miss the target. I heard the spring and the plunger give a B-B gun sound as the pellet was started on its way. After that, the memories get a little blurry, because when I heard the B-B reach its objective, my mother stood upright and turned toward me and began moving my way quite rapidly.
     I cannot recall the look on her face, but I do remember it was one that told my child’s brain that I should make a hasty retreat. But my legs were not long enough to get a head start. There were blueberry bushes lining the path toward the house, which was where I hoped to take refuge. Mom reached out and got two blueberry branches as she passed by the bushes and it only took her another instant to cover the rest of the ground between us.
     She grabbed me by the arm and swung me around so I could get a good look at the fury in her face. I think I hurt her and she wanted me to know it. But that was only another instant, because in some way, I believe it was magic, she had my short pants and my underpants down and she was laying those blueberry branches on me like there was no tomorrow!
     The only thing I remember crying out (and I mean crying!) was, "But Mama, you didn’t tell me not to!!!!" This part is hazy now, but if I can imagine her attitude at that moment, she probably wasn’t buying it. After a while, she stopped, and to this day, I don’t believe she gave me nearly enough licks with the switches to return the "favor" I’d done her. Several times as an adult I told her I was sorry I did that, to which she just smiled slyly as if to say I had learned a valuable lesson.
     As an afterthought, I need to say that my brother never thought I got enough licks from Mom.
     Well, enough of the nostalgia. I was trying to point out that there’s more to a home than the ground on which it rests and the material of which it’s made. A home is where memories are made – where good memories and bad ones come together to start you on your life’s journey. The thing is that place isn’t always a single spot. For many people, their home place can be here one year, another town the next and so on. But anywhere you are, if your family is together, or you are among those you love, home is genuinely "where the heart is."
     Y’all come.

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Eddie Simmons in about 1937 and what has to be his first automobile. I wonder why he's pushing the car. Maybe he gave out of gas.

This page last modified on Sunday, May 20, 2007