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  Papa Hailes took care of his own. He could raise cotton, as many cattle and hogs as his land would allow, could farm and garden more than enough onions, tomatoes, field peas, butter beans, string beans, turnip greens and collards, mustard greens, okra, new potatoes, sweet potatoes, and corn for feeding the cows and for roasting ears, sweet corn for boiling, roasting, frying and for cornbread and crackling bread.

  He buried sugar cane stalks for planting the following year, depositing them within mounds of earth, anticipating each sprout to replicate its parent with a peeling as blue and purple as the skin of an eggplant and as thick in circumference as a butcher’s wrist with juice clear and sweet. The nectar’s taste could best be experienced by placing a metal water dipper beneath the drain of a grinding press on an October day, driven by a mule as the stalk was crushed, releasing the pure juice and leaving a residue of pulp named “cane chew.”

  It can easily be recalled to my mind over three quarters of a century distant just as though I were still there on that crisp, chilly afternoon in the fall of the season.

  The leaves were colored crimson and burnt auburn. I was playing with the other children, fighting and clamoring up a mountain of cane chews embattled to become the King of the Hill.

  Papa Hailes would collect this godly mead directly from the press and convey it down along a tin roof conduit to huge metal trays. Early in the morning before the day’s pressing, he and the men would build a large wood fire. The wood was reduced to a dull red-gray ash of smoldering coals and these were shoveled into fire boxes made of rock and cement that supported the juice trays suspended above the coals. These were called the molasses fires.

  As the trays became heated, the juice developed a rolling, bubbling boil, releasing sweet smelling steam, caramelizing and turning the contents of the tray to a deep and rich brown, almost golden black in color that thickened progressively with further evaporation. At just the right consistency, Papa Hailes and three other men would don heavy gloves and very carefully remove the trays to a workbench. As the syrup cooled, it became more and more thick and viscous and was finally poured into gallon metal cans and sealed with air tight lids. When the molasses reached the ambient temperature of the surrounding environment, it was thick and smoky and sweet beyond any description.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE DEPRESSION (OCTOBER 29, 1929)

  After the privation, loss of children and monetary sacrifice that many American families had suffered during “The First Great War to End All Wars,” the country began to recover from World War I, and the vigor of America, bolstered by the technical ingenuity of the time and the dawn of a free market economy, began to respond. Money and the promise of money was the catalyst and the investors and investment gamblers believed. Their earnings and for many, their winnings gave transient confirmation to their wisdom and they reaped some profits and spent with a “Joi De Vivre,” an abandon and wildness that led to euphoria throughout the land. They celebrated and danced too much, drank too much, and did other things too much. They communed in a festival of debauchery.

  The Wall Street investment district promised overly optimistic investment opportunities with returns upon almost any venture that was posted upon the trading board. That led to wild speculation without counsel or advice and the federal tax burden was very light. Everyone that had whatever surplus to invest or credit to borrow imagined that he or she either was, or soon would be independent, financially unshackled, and ultimately rich, because the free market of our country was of such strength and power that our industrial and financial might would suffice for not only our own needs but for those of the rest of the world. On October 29, 1929 the door closed.

  No one had a radio in Hale. No one had any stock investments in Hale. Life in the South proceeded at its usual, idyllic pace on that most ominous day and during the ensuing months.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AFTERMATH

  The Clarke County Tribune newspaper in Quitman diligently reported the crash and the many suicidal responses of those sufficiently close to the catastrophe to capitulate their lives, ending their hopes and future fortunes on Wall Street in New York and in the East. It took a while for the wealthy, the reasonably well off, and the impoverished of Southeastern Mississippi, to understand that they were not an island unto themselves.

  By some twist of fate, following the collapse Papa Hailes crops had been much more bountiful. He picked another bale of cotton per three acres, every one of his cows had calved and the hogs had yielded much better hams and bacon. The balance of the loan principal at the Commercial Bank of Quitman was almost repaid. Mr. Thornton, the president of that institution, greeted him with obvious pleasure and enthusiasm during his infrequent visits to the bank.

  In the spring of 1930, Uncle Glen went into Tom Hailes’ store to buy some supplies. Tom was his second cousin. His grandfather, Jep, and Papa Hailes were brothers. Everyone in the store was talking about the Depression and the effects that it would impose upon them.

  Uncle Glen was busy and in a hurry. He spoke directly to his cousin, “Tom, we’re going to need some seed and fertilizer for planting, two plow blades, four trace chains, and two hundred-pound sacks of sweet horse feed. Mama needs a short barrel of flour, a box of salt, ten pounds of sugar, five pounds of coffee and two pounds of tea, and some brown sewing thread.” He amended, “Put it on our bill.”

  Tom said, “Glen, I can’t give you or anybody else any credit right now.” He spoke in a voice that was loud enough for all the remaining customers to hear. He continued, “The bank at Quitman has called all of my short term notes, and we are going to have to meet the next mortgage payment on the store, the house, and the place or they are going to foreclose on us. You have always paid me on time but this year they won’t let me carry the note for you to even allow me to give you time to get the money from the bank.”

  “It’s this damned depression.”

  Uncle Glen’s eyes narrowed, “Tom, I’ve got to have all of these things now. You know how close we are to getting the seed in the ground!”

  Tom looked at him and said, “I’d do anything to help you and Papa Hailes, but my place and my house have got to come first. But before you go I want to buy you a Coca-Cola and I have some other things in the back of the store that I want you to take to Papa and Miss Ellie.” He added, “I believe Papa Hailes would agree with me about this.”

  Tom held his head down and didn’t look directly at Uncle Glen. He then went to his drink box and fetched an icy cold Coca-Cola from its depths and handed it to Glen. He opened the counter half-door and allowed Glen to pass through it to the interior of the building. They moved together to the back of the store. As soon as they were out of sight and hearing of the other customers Tom stopped and turned to Glen.

  He said “Glen, I had to say that to you in front of all those folks out in the front, but you know that we are blood relatives and that I will certainly take care of Papa and Mama Hailes, and you. Just come around the back of the store this evening with your wagon and I will open the back door and give you all the things that you need, but you must never tell anyone about this.”

  Glen said, “God bless you Tom Hailes for this. I will go to the bank tomorrow, and I am sure that Mr. Thornton will extend enough credit as we are in very good shape at the bank right now.” Uncle Glen said, “We will be back tonight to get these things, thanks to you.” He walked back home to report to Papa Hailes.

  Papa Hailes was sitting on the porch, drinking a glass of water and trying to cool off with a hand-held fan when Uncle Glen came into the front yard. His father saw his expression and immediately sensed trouble.

  “What’s wrong?” Papa asked. Uncle Glen brushed past him, saying only, “come inside."

  After two hours of intense discussion, Papa Hailes got dressed again, went out to the barn, bridled, then saddled big Red Buck, mounted and dug his heels into the horse’s sides. Red Buck broke into a sauntering gallop and the two of them faded rapidly down the road tow
ard Quitman and the bank to see Mr. Thornton once more.

  It was late when Papa left home and almost closing time when he arrived at the bank. He was not prepared for what he saw. A line of customers emerged through the glass doors of the bank front and extended across the landing in front of the bank, down the steps and out onto the small, well-manicured front lawn. Men stood in the line or sat under the great oaks and magnolia trees with their coats and vests removed, talking among themselves with subdued voices, waiting for their turn for a brief, almost hopeless interview with Mr. Thornton, the one that would be their listener, counselor and in a sense, their executioner.

  Papa stepped to the end of the line and waited. The day waned, dusk followed and darkness began to encroach upon the shrinking, ever shortening line of exhausted, sweating, confused and apprehensive customers, men far more anxious and afraid than angry. That would come later.

  Partly from concern for these poor victims, but mostly from fear of a riot and an open attack upon the bank, its employees and ultimately its officers including Mr. Thornton himself, the bank manager instructed the staff that the bank would remain open until every customer had been seen, served and ultimately dispatched.

  After many hours, Papa Hailes finally stepped into the vestibule of the bank. All of the teller’s cages were closed and the vault door along with the wrought iron fence in front of it had been sealed and locked.

  “Oh, God,” Papa whispered, “I know that I haven’t been as diligent in my faith to you and in my service to others, but we’ve worked and tried so hard.” He thought about it within himself and finally concluded the prayer, “I know, though, I am not the only one in this predicament right now.” He concluded with “Not my will but Thine be done, my Lord and my Savior.”

  At long last his immediate predecessor got up from the customer’s chair at Mr. Thornton’s desk. He turned and walked toward the banister gate looking straight ahead, not seeing Papa or anyone in the line and quickly exited the bank. As Papa moved forward Mr. Thornton didn’t say anything but motioned him to sit. Mr. Thornton looked unspeakably tired. His face was lined and creased deeply from the wrinkles of weariness, and he appeared to have aged ten to fifteen years from the time of Papa’s last visit only two months ago.

  Papa softened and said, “I didn’t realize what this would do to you. I’m just beginning to realize what it is going to do to us all.” After a moment of consideration Mr. Thornton’s wrinkles faded somewhat and his lips reflected a faint deflection, almost a smile. He looked at Papa and said, “Silas, you’re as fresh as a quick rain.”

  All of the customers had signed a waiting list shortly after they arrived for their interview and a clerk had already extracted Papa Hailes’ bank file and placed it on Mr. Thornton’s desk awaiting Papa’s arrival. Mr. Thornton reached for the file. “How many more people do I have to see?” Mr. Thornton inquired of Papa.

  “You ought to get through sometime close to midnight,” he responded sympathetically.

  Mr. Thornton inquired, “And why are you here, Silas?”

  “Well, we are current with all of our loans, and they should be paid off in full after harvest this fall but Tom Hailes is scared to death to give us any credit. I can’t blame him because I know that he has a lot of people and places on his books, not just ours. If he gets too far behind on his obligations, he’s going to lose everything that he has. We have to have enough money advanced to pay him in cash for everything that we’re going to need to get the planting done and to carry us through until we can harvest and cash in the crop.”

  Mr. Thornton’s ashen expression quickly returned. He carefully explained, “Silas, I have been sitting here throughout this whole day listening to the same stories from every farmer and business man in this county. Bank withdrawals have far exceeded any cash deposits. They all are in immediate need of cash.”

  Papa said, “Then take another look at the balance that we owe you. The place is in the best shape that it has ever been. Just extend enough to get the seed into the ground. I’ll take it from there.” He continued, “I have never failed you or any of my obligations to the bank. I know that you know I’ll find a way to repay you, and on time.”

  Mr. Thornton frowned and sank into deep consideration. Then he reached down and took his shoes off, removed his socks and counted his toes then muttered, “By gosh, they are still all there, but I’ll count them again after you leave, along with my socks.”

  Papa Hailes’ laughed, while his heart leaped. “Does that mean that you will help us?” He whispered. Mr. Thornton responded, “I will lend you enough to pay the indebtedness to Tom Hailes tonight. As for any additional, we will see you about that at harvest time.”

  Papa knew now that he had enough to accomplish what had to be purchased to get the seed into the ground. Big Red would have to eat grasses and ‘Kudzu’ vines, the family would drink a lot of well water without anything to color it, and Mama Hailes would have to darn his shirt with corn silk, but the crop would be planted!

  Mr. Thornton looked at Papa very hard as he rose from the chair. “I have made only three loans today. Don’t say anything because so many have been thrown into hell over all of this.”

  Papa said with solemnity, “You didn’t even need to ask,” and extended his hand gratefully. “You have much still to do tonight. I’ll come by tomorrow, and we can work it all out then.” He departed with a heart bursting with joy, but without a word to anyone. Mr. Thornton prepared the note and signed it for the Tom Hailes part only, but didn’t say goodnight.

  Papa Hailes rode down to the Chickasawhay River just south of town. He had come prepared and removed Red’s bridle, saddle and blanket, washed him off with water from the stream and fed him with field corn brought for this contingency. Papa had brought a cover and had a quick cold-water bath in the river bed himself. He built a fire and ate a meager ration that Mama Hailes had prepared. He spread the horse blanket on the ground using the saddle for a pillow and laid down with the cover over him and soon was asleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE VINE

  The ground was cold and damp and a fog lay heavily on the creek bottom where he slept the following morning, inhibiting the dawning sun that crept steadily into his consciousness. The new day was heralded by a squadron of gnats busily feasting upon the cerumen in his ear. The maddening incessant high pitched reverberations of their wings awakened him. He struck out at the miscreants in his left external ear canal and was deafened on that side for several minutes in reward for his efforts. Cursing, he quickened his campfire, reached into the saddlebags and made a pot of coffee and ate another biscuit with preserves.

  While sitting at his breakfast, he looked up into a great oak tree at two frisky playful red squirrels that had taken leave of their gathering of pecans, acorns and hickory nuts, and were chasing each other at dizzying speed and heights along the heavy limbs in a frenzy of sheer abandonment and exhilaration. Papa was glad that he didn’t have his shotgun on the saddle. As he squinted at the playful objects in the trees in the bright morning sunlight above him he suddenly noticed something that was destined to change him and the fortune of his family for the rest of their lives, but not for the generations to come.

  Out of the ground sprung a huge vine clinging to the tree trunk, as thick as a Hauser rope on a steamship. It climbed upward reaching above in search of the sun with canes emerging from the vine extending buds of future clusters of Bullis grapes.

  He screamed out for joy and the sound caused the birds in the trees to flush, their wings beating against the morning air. Their echoes met and melded with that from his own voice then faded into silence once more. He dressed hastily then broke camp and packed. He saddled Buck, quickly loaded and climbed up.

  Right now riding toward Quitman, Papa Hailes’ primary thoughts and concern was with today, the bank, and the survival of his family. This was not a time for deep self-reflection; the wolf was at the door.

  Mississippi was the poorest state in the un
ion. It was not going to get any better, at least any time soon. Through all this adversity, Papa realized that opportunity had presented itself to him in the form of two playful little animals in the trees on the river bottom that morning.

  Under pressure from a small, dedicated and vociferous bloc of citizens, mostly women and members of the clergy, the politicians in the congress finally capitulated and voted in 1920 to approve the only bill to amend The Constitution of the United States of America at that time, making it illegal to make or to sell any alcohol containing spirits for consumption within every state in the union, and Prohibition was born. It would have been better if they had been able to mandate the thirst and frivolity away from most of the rest of the adults that enjoyed the wine, whiskey, and the remaining alcoholic recreational beverages that had been a staple of American consumption since the Santa Maria and her sister ships had first dropped anchor in the New World. Instead, they would now become either criminals for drinking it, or at least intimate associates of the criminals that made and delivered it. Papa desperately needed money. Then and there he decided to become one of the players, and he didn’t drink.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MR. THORNTON

  Papa Hailes rode into town before it had begun to stir. It was barely daylight and the homes along Dalrymple Street were still dark and silent. The lawns glistened and the hedges and trees were green and fragrant with dew. Papa knew that it would be some time before the Bank opened, but he was determined to be the first one in line and that he would be wise to be there very early. He had already been seated on the steps of the bank when the first employee arrived at 9:00 a.m.