During my first year there the United States was still in a cold war with the Soviet Union. Fall-Out Shelter signs were prominent throughout the hallways on the first floor. We were told that in the event of a nuclear attack we needed to get under our desk and not to look at the flash. It hadn’t been long since we had passed through the Cuban missile crisis and war was a definite possibility.

Also, I learned I didn’t have to eat at the cafeteria anymore. I had an option. There were two small stores adjacent to the school. One operated by sisters, Corrine Clark and Eva Tress, and the other by an older man that lived next door.

Kids were allowed to walk over there during lunch breaks and for twenty-five cents could get a soft drink, a hotdog and a Reese’s peanut butter cup. Who needed a balanced lunch from the cafeteria when we could have that?

During the summer of 1963 Dr. Martin Luther King had given his “I Have a Dream” speech on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and naïve me started to wake up and realize things weren’t as good for others, as they were for me.

I probably should have known that when I had witnessed my friends on the farm getting on a different bus and being taken to a different school, but I didn’t. I had no idea what or who Jim Crow was.

I was sitting in history class in November that year when the principal announced over the intercom that President Kennedy had just been shot in Dallas, Texas. Most kids in the South weren’t big Kennedy fans during those times, but I was surprised when a few began to cheer. I just sat there and thought, “What the heck! The president just got shot and you guys are cheering?”

Supposedly, one radio station announced that he had been shot and immediately afterwards played Hit The Road Jack, a song by Ray Charles. Kennedy’s nickname was Jack.

It wasn’t long after the first announcement that Mr. Lawrence came back on the intercom again. That time he announced President Kennedy had passed away. I guess reality kicked in at that moment for all the other kids. No one was cheering any longer and our minds began to wonder who had done it and if the Russians were coming for us.

By the time we got off the school bus that day we had a new president. Lyndon Johnson.

Somehow, I managed to promote to seventh grade and discovered Johnny wasn’t the only bully in the county. There were three other boys that roamed the playground during recesses looking for their version of fun. I don’t know why but for some odd reason I became their primary target.

The two faster ones would shout out my last name and come charging towards me. My left brain always kicked in and I would bolt away like a gazelle from a lion.

I was pretty fast for my size, but more often than not they’d tackle me and get the other kids to come over and take a look at their handy work as if they had captured a wild animal or something. I was humiliated.

The slowest of the three was chubby and he would sit on me until recess was over and all the other kids had gone back inside. He did his best to time it where I’d be late for class.

It got to the point I hated recess and didn’t want to go outside. However, there was that one time I almost got away from them. I guess I’d been eating my Wheaties or had just had enough practice running that I had gotten a little faster.

I outran them all around the playground and dodged their attempts to tackle me for about ten minutes when I had the bright idea I would just go back inside the school building.

I almost made it to the door and was a good twenty or thirty feet ahead of the pack when Camille Fulton grabbed me by the knap of the neck and said, “Hold on buster. Mr. Algood, you know better than to run into the building.”

With that said, she marched me inside and gave me a paddling. She was my cousin and I just couldn’t get a break.

The summer after that a couple of my friends from the school bus and I planned a camp out. Nothing big, just a night in a tent beside the church parsonage where one of them lived.

The thing was that his yard was directly across the road from the church’s cemetery. But we tried to not think about that.

We had enough gear and snacks to make it through a small apocalypse. We built a little campfire and had enough wood to last a week or until around 11:30, whichever came first.

It was a full moon that night and our fire was only glowing embers by midnight. By then we’d told every ghost story we knew and were sitting there in the glow of the moon pondering life.

The preacher’s kid saw it first. Something was moving across the road in the cemetery.

“You guys see that?”

A gentle breeze had picked up.

“Yeah. I think I see what you’re talking about. That white thing near the back?”

“Uh-huh. What’ca think it is?”

“Looks like someone holding up their hand.”

“I see it. You think it’s wanting to ask a question?”

“Naw. I don’t think that’s what it is at all.

“Y’all remember that old man up the road that fell asleep with a cigarette in bed and burned up? I think it’s him.”

“Yeah! I heard when they found him his arm was up over his head, kinda like this, and they couldn’t get it down when they tried to put him in the casket.”

“Really? What’d they do?”

“They had to break it off to get it in there with him.”

Silence.

“Y’all think that’s him?”

“Maybe.”

We didn’t get much sleep that night. At one point we considered slipping inside the parsonage and locking the doors, but we didn’t.

As the sun rose higher in the sky we ventured out to edge of the road and peered out into the cemetery. Out there near the center was a monument of an angel.

Apparently it had looked like it was moving in the moonlight as the breeze moved tree limbs surrounding the cemetery.

It was during that summer my oldest brother and one of his friends decided to catch a bus to nowhere in particular. When they got together they came up with interesting things to do.

Once my brother’s friend thought it would be fun to box up some cow manure, gift wrap it and set it on the side of the road in front of our barn to see what would happen.

After a couple cars passed by one came along and spotted it. There were several people inside when it pulled over, someone hopped out and snatched up the present.

We watched as the car slowly headed down the highway.

First they tossed out the ribbon and bow. A little further along out came the wrapping paper.

It didn’t travel much farther before the car came to a stop and they tossed the box and manure out of the window.

Feeling good about that conquest they decided to up their game. They took one of my mother’s old purses, tied it to the end of some fishing line on my brother’s rod and reel and put it on the side of the road.

The fishing line was unreeled up the bank of the road and into the loft of the barn where we hid behind a bale of hay.

Then we waited to see what we’d catch. Finally, someone saw the purse and pulled over. Just as they reached for the purse they quickly reeled it in. Whoever it was took it well and laughed along with us.

The next person to see it was our neighbor, Nona Boswell. When Nona got out of her car she had the misfortune of straddling the fishing line. Just as she leaned over to pick up the purse they set the hook and yanked it backwards between her legs.

She screamed and jumped higher than a lady would normally jump while wearing a dress. We were dying laughing up in the loft. Red-faced she looked in our direction and shook her finger at us saying, “I’m going to get you boys!”

Then she laughed too before getting back in her car and continuing on to town.

Well, it was a good day to be fishing. It wasn’t long before a Trailways bus came by. The driver spotted it sitting on the edge of the road and began applying his brakes.

There was dead silence in the loft as we watched that bus come to a stop a hundred yards down the highway.

Slowly he backed that bus up the incline until he was beside the purse. Chaaacooo. The brakes were set and and the door opened.

I was looking around for an emergency exit out of the loft if things went south.

One of the other boys whispered, “No way! Did y’all see that thing back all the way up the hill?”

The driver appeared in the opening of the door. Inside the bus passengers were plastered against the windows trying to see the treasure he was about to pick up.

We were trying to catch our breath as he disembarked and made his way back to the purse.

Steady, steady. Not too soon. Not too late.

YANK! Just as he reached for it.

After a moment of silence the bus erupted with laughter as they reeled the purse up the bank and into the loft.

The driver was speechless, then began laughing, waved at us and boarded the bus to continue on his way.

There was no way to top that catch so we called it a day.

For years afterward when that driver made that route he would lay down on his horn as he passed by our house.

(To be continued)

View of the elementary school, The old high school and the older part of the high school. Also shown is the old gym in the back. If you look carefully you can see the little stores that were near the school. On the upper part of the photo is an empty field where the present high school stands.	Louisville High School band. Year unknown.
This is the north wall of the old high school. Note the unusual brickwork. I was told that professors from Mississippi state would bring their architectural students down to study the patterns in the brick.	Classmates
The drive in on North Church Street.	The creosote mill that was located on the south side of Louisville.
Me and my horse, Lady.	This is a shot of the old city cemetery on Parks Street. During the Civil War one of the prominent men in town had his slave lift the top off this crypt so he could climb inside and hide when Grierson's Raiders came through Louisville. After they had moved through the slave came back and lifted it again so he could get out.

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Rick Algood
September 4, 2021