Random Musings and Memories
Well, it’s Saturday afternoon, college football, kicking back in the recliner, cold Pepsi & snacks. Spent all morning working on promotional ideas for my books. Next Saturday, I will be in Kings Mountain, N.C. for the Gateway Trails Celebration, which includes the celebration of the 231st anniversary of the Revolutionary War Battle of Kings Mountain. My book, “King of the Mountain” is being featured at the celebration and I will be there greeting friends and signing books. I am sure it will be a great time. I grew up about 1/4 mile from where the event will be held and I am sure the memories will flood my mind. You can’t spend 20 years somewhere without making some good memories and some not so good. In my younger years, I was, I guess, what you may call a little anti-social, bashful, or a loner. Though I had friends in the neighborhood there on the mill hill, and I spent a lot of my days playing with the other kids. But I also spent a lot of time alone riding my bike, throwing a ball against the concrete steps and catching it, climbing trees, wandering through the woods and just pretending I was the cowboy or the superhero I saw on TV earlier. I did not even know my Dad. He had left when I was very young and I never had the father figure I wanted so bad. My Grandpa was that figure I needed, but he died of a heart attack when I was five years old. Even at five years old, I knew my life would forever change. My sister, of course, didn’t want to play boy games and definitely didn’t want to hunt snakes out in the woods near our home. I was about 9 years old when a new Pastor came to our church. He and his wife had four sons, one of which was just my age. Alex and I became best friends, and most folks would say you didn’t see one of us without the other. His Mom and Dad became very close to me and treated me as if I was the fifth son. Alex had a little more of a wild side than I did and I would follow his lead and ended up in trouble way too many times. I did, however, shed my “lone wolf” complex and began to interact with Alex’s brothers and also other kids at school. Alex’s brother, Johnny, became my role model. I wanted to be just like him. I finally had a “family” that loved me, cared for me, wanted to do things for me and with me. Not that my Mom and Grandmother didn’t love me, I knew they did. Not that they didn’t care for me or didn’t want to do things for me or with me they just weren’t able to. They did the best they could, and I knew that, but there was so much more I needed.
The Pastor was the father figure I needed. He would do things with me and Alex, he played with us, and he would talk to us and especially to me. I could talk to him about anything and he never became upset with me, criticized me, or made me feel I was a terrible person, just like I felt a father would do. Then, when I was twelve, my world was again turned upsidedown. The Pastor received a call to another church congregation, and the Family moved to Spencer, North Carolina. I knew once again that my life was going to change forever.
High Cotton chronicles the life of a 12 year old boy, his kidnapping, and being sold into slavery. He suffered torture and abuse and witnessed horrible events prior to and during his journey via slave trader ship to America. He was auctioned to a plantation and eventually emancipated. He returns to the sea aboard the same ship he arrived on, and remains until the death of the ships Captain. Left a substantial amount of money by the Captain only to be conned by a carpetbagger, he looses everything and ends up a beggar on the streets of St. Louis. A very talented entertainer, even though a black man in a society of white aristocracy, he gains popularity and becomes an owner of a night club and faces adversity on every hand.
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Genre – Historical fiction
Rating – PG
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