Mom and Dad divorced in 1962 as I was just finishing kindergarten. Not long after Mom moved us into public housing. I don’t remember much about that summer other than I was in the hospital for almost a month with a ruptured appendix.
What I remember most from that time is Mom meeting Gerry, them getting married and him becoming my stepdad. He was a really nice man who brought peace, happiness and stability to us all.
Moving to Fairborn, OH
Not long after Mom and Gerry married, Gerry announced we were moving to his house in Fairborn, OH and that I was getting some new brothers. Besides the move and new brothers, there were a lot of other changes to adapt to; new family dynamics; leaving old friends and meeting the kids in the new neighborhood; there was exploring and learning my way around that brand-new neighborhood; there was learning a new house and where everything was; there was now 3 of us boys in one bedroom versus just 2 in the old place; there was the new school and all that went with that. Everything was a stark contrast to the cramped, noisy, dirty, violent public housing we’d been living in since the divorce. Thankfully, when you’re young, everything’s an adventure and this was no different.
Our new house was located on a dead-end street and right next to the railroad tracks. I thought that was cool! I couldn’t wait to watch the trains go by! Sadly, and despite all the warnings to “stay off the tracks, you might get hit by a train!” There were no trains that went by; it was an old WWII spur that was no longer used by anyone but us kids and it was very fun to play on!
The house was a nice little three-bedroom, one-bath ranch that was popular in the 50’s and 60’s. Ours, like most of the homes in the neighborhood, had a garage. The garage was separate, on the right side of the house and set back so that the front of the garage was almost even with the back of the house. Its position helped it form part of the backyard fencing. There was a big Weeping Willow tree in the center of the backyard. It was a tree I loved to climb but also where, when my new step-dad was away and I got into trouble, I was forced to get the switch that would become my punishment. My new stepdad found out about this and put an end to my corporal punishment and that made me like him even more!
We had fun in Fairborn. It’s where I learned to hunt, where I learned to swim, and where I got my first paper route. It was also where I got one of my greatest gifts.
The Farmer
At the other end of the street about 4 blocks down was the back end of a cornfield owned by a really nice farmer. He didn’t mind if we kids played among the rows of corn as long as we didn’t knock any of the stalks down. The neighborhood boys and I took advantage of that kindness and played tag and hide-and-seek and cops and robbers and all kinds of great games. Sometimes we would even go there to sit and talk when one of our home lives got tough and we just needed a break away from our own family’s chaos.
School started back in mid-August 1964 so playtime became late afternoons and on weekends. With cub scouts, NRA gun classes and everything else we were all into, what time we could snag seemed so limited.
In mid-September, we found a free Saturday and we were all looking forward to getting into everything we could imagine. Shortly after lunch, we headed down to the cornfield to play cops and robbers only to find it had been harvested! I remember us all standing and staring in complete shock!
As we stood there surveying the empty field, we all wondered how we would replace that epic playground. For me, there was even a time or two I would sneak off and go there by myself and sit deep in the field with a book. This was a great loss! After what seemed like an hour of discussing our options, we went to go play somewhere else. I was the last to walk away. That cornfield meant a lot to me.
One day, in early October 1964, unable to find anyone to play with, I walked down to the cornfield and just stood there surveying the desolate field. I was sorely missing the playtime with my friends and missing my place to hide away. Suddenly I heard a pickup truck pulling up beside me. I glanced and saw the farmer as he stopped to say hello. Since his house and driveway were on the other side of the cornfield, I knew he used the dirt road along the edge of the cornfield as a shortcut. My stepdad said it saved the farmer a 15-minute drive going the long way home. I had no idea what the “long way” was but I accepted this as a shortcut the farmer needed to take.
I was tall for my age but even so, the top of my head didn’t reach nearly as high as the bottom of the window on the farmer's truck but that didn’t stop me from hearing all the yapping and crying coming from inside his truck. He noticed my attention to the noises and laughing he got out and walked around to the passenger side and there, on the floorboard of his blue pickup truck was a box full of puppies!
I’m not sure how we proceeded but, somehow, I remember him asking me if I wanted a puppy and 
“Boy! I sure do!” I remember him asking if I wanted to go ask my parents for permission and I debated it and decided not to. He shrugged and gave me the pick of the litter. Honestly, there was no picking as one puppy was all over me. I ended up going home with her cuddled in my arms. She was the cutest little puppy I could ever imagine!
On the walk home, I realized I was stuck. On the one hand, I knew Mom and Gerry would never let me have a puppy. On the other hand, I had a puppy and I REALLY wanted her. I thought about the poor puppy who trusted me so, and the sweet licks she gave me and how I didn’t want to disappoint her. I decided the best course of action was to enroll the help of my new step-brothers and roommates, Gary and Gerald. I was 7, Gary was 8 and Gerald was a worldly 10 years old. Surely the three of us would come up with a plan.
My Hidden Puppy
I knew, for now, I needed to hide the puppy. Somehow, I managed to sneak the puppy into the house and past my mom, stepdad, a nosey little sister and a plethora of older brothers and into my room. Gary and Gerald were out playing so I went to the garage and found an empty box, some old towels and managed to cobble together a bed for a puppy. Of course, there’s no keeping a puppy quiet and in a box so my plan started coming apart before it was ever fully implemented and what was left of my grand scheme came crashing down the minute Gary and Gerald came into the room. I quickly discovered that puppies are curious and want to play with EVERYONE and the yapping began!
Gary and Gerald were really excited about the puppy. I had to shush them multiple times and kept reminding them that Mom and Dad didn’t know about the puppy. We all agreed we needed to keep this a secret. So, our secrecy plot began. The puppy would stay hidden. We’d sneak food and water into the bedroom and pass her out the window for walks, bathroom breaks and playing (because, of course, no parent EVER looks out the window to watch their kids play and seeing your kids playing with a strange puppy was never gonna raise eyebrows or attract attention!).
We were a week into our master scheme (honestly, I was surprised we’d made it that long) when Mom sat me down on the couch and called me out on it. I fessed up and brought the puppy out and to my shock, Mom found the puppy to be absolutely adorable (she was!). I was allowed to keep her! Within a week, everyone in the house was madly in love with her and she was a very happy puppy.
She Didn’t Have a Name
The problem was, the puppy still didn’t have a name. There were lots of suggestions. Then, one day, mom and a few of us kids were in the kitchen and I looked over and the puppy was lying on the floor with her front legs crossed just watching everyone. I whispered to Mom to look over and as she saw the puppy she said “Ohh! She looks so lady-like!” and I said “I think her name should be Lady!” and Lady it was.
The Move to Jacksboro
It was just after school was out for the summer in 1965 when we moved to Jacksboro, Tennessee. Mom wanted to be nearer family and, I guess, something was going on with my stepdad and his ex-wife and the house. The place we found in Jacksboro was a huge white house at the end of Main Street and we all settled in rather easily. Especially Lady, she loved the big house, the big yard, the creek and all the comings and goings.
We spent the summer getting to know our new surroundings. There was our family that we only saw when we came to Tennessee on vacation that became a permanent part of our lives; grandpa, grandma, aunts, uncles and cousins were all around us and frequently coming and going. Plus, there was finding and making new friends and exploring. Well, at least as much exploring as a crafty 8-year-old boy with a penchant for trouble and a curious 18-month-old English Pointer could manage.
First Summer in Jacksboro
School started in early August 1965 and it felt like the summer had just flown by. Mom’s ex-husband, my “Dad,” had driven down from Ohio and taken me and my sister up to the World’s Fair in Montreal. It was our annual two-week vacation with Dad and it was the longest two weeks of my life. I hated every minute away from Lady. When we got home, I don’t even remember saying goodbye, I only remember Lady running to me and us rolling around on the ground as we frolicked and let each other know how much we missed each other. I vaguely remember my stepdad offering some words of comfort to my dad, “Those two are inseparable, she’s barely eaten since he left.”
School – Jacksboro Elementary
Getting acquainted with the new school was easy; first and second grades and the office were downstairs, and third, fourth and fifth grades were upstairs. It was an old wooden building and a far cry from the BIG brick and concrete school we’d moved away from in Fairborn but still hands down better than McGuffey. Also, going from 3-4 classrooms for each grade to one for each grade was quite a shock.
Not to fear, Lady would make things all better! We made it through fall and winter with no issues but suddenly, one day in the spring of 1966 Lady showed up at school. I have no idea how she got out or how she found me but there she was. That first time the school was very accommodating but soon after it got old.
Usually when Lady would escape it was because mom wasn’t careful and she’d let Lady out and once out, Lady made a mad dash for the school! It wasn’t just her determination to get to me, it was also recess! What young dog wouldn’t want a playground full of kids running around and having fun. Her chasing us, us chasing her. She was in heaven!
Sometimes during class Lady would show up at the front door of the school and let out a howl to announce her presence and you’d hear the principal yell “Lady! Go home!” and the entire school, all 5 classrooms, would laugh and giggle.
After School
Sometimes when school let out, Lady would be outside waiting. Sometimes not. If I didn’t see her then Mom had been careful and Lady would be at home. If Lady was waiting then, well, me and my best friend were walking home together. If it were snowing or raining out, oftentimes the people in the office would take mercy on Lady and let her into the office. It seems as though they had grown rather fond of Lady as well.
No matter where she was, waiting outside, in the school office or at home, I was always greeted with a wagging tail and Lady’s happy dance.
Our Adventures
Lady was my constant companion. Every night she slept on my bed and in the mornings, she always helped me start the day. Sometimes our day would just be school other times we had grand adventures!
One of our favorite adventures was exploring caves – East Tennessee, especially up on the northern end of the valley is littered with caves. There were dozens within a short walk of our house and we endeavored to explore them all and man did we get into trouble exploring caves. Finally, the adults realized they were never gonna keep us out of the caves so they taught us how to explore “safely” (like letting a group of 8-year-olds go off and explore caves on their own was ever going to be “safe!”). One trick we were taught was to look for fresh paw prints before entering the cave lest we walk (or crawl) in on a bear or something else that might eat us. Lady was pretty good about sniffing out that kind of trouble and if she started barking and growling, we moved on to the next cave. The other trick was to mark the cave opening with stacked stones so that a “search party” would know where to look. The real trick, however, was to tear down the stones when we came out lest the search party would have to look in every marked cave. For me, that was a small trade-off for the joy of exploring the caves.
Another grand adventure was the hike up to Eagles Bluff – From our white house at the end of Main St (now a shopping center), it was 3 miles up to Eagles Buff. For an adult that’s about a 90-minute walk/hike each way but for us kids it was closer to 2 hours. Of course, to make such a grand walk (always without adult supervision) we had to have snacks and a drink. It being the south there were only two acceptable snacks: either a slice of homemade pie or a Moon Pie. The only acceptable drink was an RC Cola.
Right at the foothill of the mountain, there was a natural spring and we’d place our RC Colas in the spring so it would stay cool while we finished our trek up the mountain. After a few “lessons” we also learned to bring string and clothespins so we could pin our Moon Pies from thin branches hanging out over the water to keep the critters from getting them. Mind you, Lady loved to come back down the mountain and find critters vying for our Moon Pies. She also loved to help us dig around in the water, moving stones and uncovering crawdads.
While I always considered putting up hay to be great fun and an adventure, it was one of Lady’s least favorite adventures. Mostly it was just her walking behind a bunch of boys. The older boys could easily pick up a bail and toss it on the wagon while us younger boys would have to run ahead, wrestle with our bail, get it into an easy lifting position then wait for the trailer to catch up so we’d could start trying to lift the bail and throw it on the trailer before the tractor passed us by. Lady just wasn’t a fan of this. It wasn’t play and it wasn’t fun but it was still better than our trips to Maddie Hollar.
From the moment we arrived at Maddie Hollar (a Hollar/Holler is "a small, sheltered valley that usually, but not necessarily, has a watercourse."), Lady would start howling. She hated this adventure more than any other. I, on the other hand, loved it. We’d, or rather my older brothers, had built a raft from logs lashed together with woven or braided willows from a Weeping Willow tree and old scraps of rope.
Now this wasn’t just some “go rafting” adventure, oh no! this was insanity! We’d roll rather large rocks onto the raft, then paddle out to the middle of the hollar, roll the rock up into our laps and then, with a firm grasp on the rock we’d roll over backward into the water and let the rocks drag us down towards the bottom. The object was to bring a handful of dirt up from the bottom to prove you’d made it. The scary part wasn’t being drug to the bottom, the scary part was all the water moccasins that went insane with every splash. Whenever Lady saw me pulling a rock onto my lap, she went crazy. This was NOT something she was onboard with and she didn’t like me doing it. In retrospect, Lady was pretty much the adult in the room.
Not Sure Why I Went to See Mom
It was late May 1967, my tenth birthday had come and gone, Lady was 3 and a half, spring was on its way out and summer was in the air. The usual routine was: get out of school, walk home, let Lady out and play with her for a bit, do homework, go outside and play with Lady some more, pray for food!
Mom’s office was downtown and right across from the courthouse. That sounds big but the entire downtown was just a few blocks long (and still is). It was late in the day and getting close to 5 o'clock and that’s when Mom generally closed up her office. I may have been hungry or bored or, most likely both, when I decided to head down to Mom’s office. One look at Lady with my hand on the doorknob and Lady knew we were off to someplace fun!
I had to pick and choose my times carefully because Mom did title searches for lawyers down in Knoxville so she was in the courthouse quite often and usually for hours at a time. It wasn’t at all unusual to walk to her office and find a note on the door saying she was in the courthouse. Lady and I were absolutely forbidden in the courthouse. I’m not sure I understood why, it was just a bunch of grumpy adults and piles and stacks of old papers organized into some system I would never understand. It seemed quite meaningless to me but grumpy old people like what they like.
As Lady and I neared Mom’s office, I vividly remember Mom and Grandpa (her dad), coming out of her office, locking the door, then turning to walk towards me and home. Mom was nearest the storefronts and Grandpa was nearest the street.
Grandpa Did His Thing
What happened next will forever be etched in my mind.
Grandpa tilted his head down like he was looking at the sidewalk, while his head was lowered, he reached up and pulled his bowler hat down over his eyes and then I saw his hand move to his mouth where he turned his dentures upside down hiding the teeth but showing what looked like metal fangs. He then raised his head and while looking directly at Lady he growled and stomped his feet.
Lady had never encountered a harsh, angry or terrifying moment in her life. She panicked at the sudden transformation of a man she’d seen many times and bolted from my side and into the middle of the road where she was struck by an oncoming car. As she bolted, I immediately ran after her calling her name.
I’ll never forget the “thunking” sound as the car hit Lady with both the front and rear tires. Since I was in hot pursuit, I saw it all. Her body was rolled and rolled over. Her pain. The patches of hair on the road. Her bleeding.
The driver of the car, a woman, immediately hit the brakes and stopped but it was too late. As I caught up with the car, Lady was lying in the middle of the road bleeding badly.
I ran to Lady and fell to the ground and scooped her up into my arms. I held her and screamed and cried. As I sat in the middle of the street holding Lady and it was only a few minutes until Lady died in my arms. My sobs and pleading to anyone, to God, to everyone were unanswered. She was gone.
The man riding with the lady offered to help me bury her. His was the only kindness I remember. He walked beside me as I carried Lady cradled in my arms the two blocks home. I sat next to an old oak down by the creek that ran through the yard. It was one of her and my favorite places to sit and play. I gently stroked her head and cried. Eventually, the man returned with a shovel, I had no idea how long he’d been gone. He asked me where I wanted her buried and I pointed and he said that was too close to the water and eventually she would get washed away. I pointed to another spot, one more in the shade and watched while he dug a nice deep hole. Lady was laid to rest under that old oak tree. No one from my family even came out to be with us.
My grandfather, Starling “Starl” Ward, the preacher, the holy man, the reverend, was nowhere to be seen. What a godly coward. It’s just as well.
Grieving Lasts Forever
I grieved for, what seems like months, and in some ways, I’m still grieving the loss of Lady. One day, a few months after Lady's passing, Mom did try to comfort me. The family was going to Grandma and Grandpa’s and I refused to go. Mom said, “You still upset over that dog?” That was the first time I ever stood up to Mom and I just stared back with an icy gaze. She looked at me for a minute and said “Dad didn’t mean for that to happen; he just likes to tease animals.” As if that explanation was going to make it all better. Instead, her nonchalance made it all worse. Grandpa wasn’t teasing an animal; he was being cruel. The preacher had shown his true colors.
I Never Spoke to Grandpa Again
I never spoke to Grandpa again. There were plenty of opportunities for us to talk and God knows he tried but I wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, I went out of my way to avoid him. Even when everyone went to his house and I was forced to go, I wanted nothing to do with him. As a child, I was smart enough to have already learned an observation expressed years later by Maya Angelou "When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” Over the years I have learned to paraphrase her observation to: “When someone shows you who they are or how little love and/or respect they have for you, believe them the first time.” He had shown me who he was and how little love and respect he had for me or for animals and I believed him.
The Funeral
Grandpa died in June 1977. I don’t know if it was old age or the “black lung” disease he contracted as a coal miner that killed him. I really didn’t care then and still don’t.
I was home visiting from Germany and Mom insisted we all attend the funeral. So, from Atlanta, a caravan of three cars drove up for the funeral. One brother was in the lead car, another brother driving my mom and dad, me and my significant other bringing up the rear.
At the funeral, some preacher was railing on about “all the good things” Grandpa had done and how he was such a “Godly man!” I sat and listened and I wanted to vomit. Finally, I’d hit the point where I just couldn’t stand to hear anymore so I got up and walked out.
I smoked back then and I remember leaning up against the fender of my bright yellow Mustang II. I sat there thinking about how messed up funerals were and how they should give equal time to all the wrongs the dead had done.
About halfway through my cigarette an uncle, I don’t remember which one, but it was one of mom’s brothers and Grandpa’s sons, came out and started yelling at me. He too was an “ordained minister” and proudly went on and on about how I was being disrespectful and that I need to “let that damned dog go!”
I didn’t mind his ranting, but I knew, no matter what I did, he was gonna escalate this into violence and, frankly, calling Lady a “damned dog” almost did it. But, instead of reacting, I continued to lean against the hood of my car and listen to him scream “You need to let this go!” Actually, no, no I don’t.
My uncle’s fists were clenched, his face was red and he was almost to the point of swinging when my oldest brother, Harry, got between us and told my uncle to go back inside. When Harry spoke, especially with his size and, with the tone he used, all but the most foolish of men listened. My uncle retreated back inside the chapel. Harry gave me a calming look before he too walked back inside the chapel.
I don’t know what happened inside the chapel but after the service, Mom wanted to go home. She didn’t seem upset or anything, she was just done with the entire event. Following her lead, we didn’t stay for the lowering of the casket and instead left the funeral home and drove back to Atlanta in the same caravan that brought us to Tennessee. It rained most of the way.
Recently, I was telling this story to a retired preacher and he reminded me of Proverbs 12:10 which says “The righteous care for the needs of their animals, but the kindest acts of the wicked are cruel.”
I, to this day, believe that my grandpa, Starl Ward was a wicked and cruel man.