Tragedy In Heber Springs

It began as a lovely Friday in April, 1946 at Heber Springs, Arkansas.  Twenty six year old Viola Martin had baked a chocolate cake and two dozen oatmeal cookies earlier in the day. When husband Rufo returned to work on the Vincent Farm after a lunch of cornbread and beans with wild onions, she quickly washed up the dishes and took her two daughters on a walk to Spring Park, a short distance west from their small shotgun frame house on a sharecropper lot at Vincent Farms where Rufo had been employed since they moved down to Heber from Berryville a year earlier.  It was as sunny afternoon but Viola had the girls wear the sweaters that Grandma Walls had sent down from Green Forrest for Christmas.  There was a soft cool breeze from the south.  A mother never knew what to expect on a day in early April.

There were plans for a Saturday picnic at the park and fishing along the Little Red River.  Sunday dinner would be with local relatives after church.  Viola had caught, plucked and cleaned a chicken in the back yard, gathered some potatoes and onions from the cellar and taken a jar of green beans from the shelf that she had canned last summer.  Viola was well prepared for the weekend ahead. But this Friday afternoon had been too nice to be spent indoors with those energetic young girls.  Dolias was six and kid sister, Angelean, not quite three years old.

After an hour of fun in Spring Park, dark clouds gathered and a chill wind whipped up out of the northwest.  Viola called to the girls and coaxed them away from the teeter-totter where they were playing with some neighbor kids.  

Walking out of the park along the dirt road on the east end of town where Main Street bent northeast and became Wilburn Road, Viola saw a neighbor lady and stopped by the road to visit.  Suddenly a gust of wind blew Angelean’s red scarf off her head onto the road.  Angelean dashed onto the roadway after the scarf.  To Viola’s horror, a logging truck was baring down on Angelean.  Instinctively, Viola leapt out onto the road and threw Angelean back.  In doing so, Viola slipped and fell under the truck as it veered to avoid hitting her.  It was too late.  Viola lay crumpled in the road bleeding and covered in dirt.  The girls shrieked and cried.  The horrified neighbor called for her teenage son to run up to the Vincent Farm and find Rufo as she ran into her house to call an ambulance.

The ambulance from Estelle Hospital arrived 10 minutes later.  Dolais lay in the dirt beside the lifeless body of her mother,weeping inconsolably.  The neighbor lady held a trembling Angelean as others had gathered around aghast at the tragedy before them, some praying loudly, others screaming and weeping.  The truck driver was upset, pacing about and looking for solace himself.  The ambulance driver and his medic were not sure what to do.  Viola’s body was in such a twisted state that they were afraid to move her.  Red faced and bewildered, Rufo came running onto the scene.  He immediately gathered Viola up in his arms, crawled up into the ambulance with her, and commanded the driver to get them to the hospital.

At the hospital, nurses and a doctor worked to assess Viola’s condition.  Viola had suffered multiple fractures, lacerations, and head trauma.  Although the medical team did what they could, she never regained consciousness.  By the fourth day, infections and swelling of her brain had taken their toll.  On Tuesday morning, April 10, 1946, Viola Martin, a loving wife and mother, was pronounced dead at Estelle Hospital.  

Word was sent to Green Forest bearing the sad news to Viola’s family there as plans were being made with a Heber Springs funeral home and the family’s local Baptist pastor for her funeral and burial the following Friday afternoon.  After the services, a grief stricken Rufo was consoled by local friends and family as the Walls relatives offered to take the girls up to Green Forest in northwest Arkansas.  They felt this might help Viola’s grieving family to heal and would offer comfort to Dolias and Angelean while their father dealt with his personal loss and his own future.

The summer and fall of 1946 was a sad period of time for the two girls but Grandma Walls did her best to make them feel welcome in their mother’s home community and close knit family.  In time, Rufo met a somewhat younger woman, Helen Crawford.  She was attractive with black hair, brown eyes, and an enticing figure.  They were married in December, 1946 at White, Arkansas.   In Heber Springs, they rented an upstairs apartment in an old house across the street General Baptist Church.  Rufo and Helen enjoyed some time there as newlyweds.  Soon, Rufo longed to have Dolias and Angelean with him again in Heber Springs.  In April, 1947, just over a year after their mother’s death, Rufo drove 140 miles up to Green Forrest and brought the girls back home to Heber Springs.  Heading down Highway 65, the girls were very happy and looking forward to starting a new life with their father and his new wife.

It wasn’t long before that happy dream proved to be elusive.  The beauty and excitement Rufo had seen in Helen began to fade as Helen assumed the routine day to day role of housewife and step-mother of the two young girls.  

Dolias, about age 7, needed special attention due to physical and emotional conditions that had affected her for some time.  It is not certain if some of this was present at birth or if the severe fever she suffered around age two was the primary cause.  Dolias had beautiful dark eyes, natural curly hair, an olive complexion, and lovely full lips.  However, a spinal condition caused a slight hump high on her back.  This was often a source of teasing and insecurity for her and may have contributed to her frequent flashes of anger.

However, nearly 4 year old Angelean was a different story.  She was strong and energetic yet somewhat withdrawn, often playing quietly with a doll or a neighborhood kitten.  Local friends and relatives often commented about how much she had grown the past year and how she resembled her beautiful mother.  A child her age required a lot of supervision. Helen may have found it distracting to answer frequent questions of why to satisfy the rich curiosity of Angelean’s growing intellect. 

This disruption to their brief honeymoon life soon revealed the truly darker side of Helen’s personality.  She was no longer the center of attention in Rufo’s life.  In reaction to this change in status, Helen resorted instinctively by striking out against the one she felt most threatened by, the one with whom she fought for Rufo’s attention; Angelean.  Her resentment grew toward the child who reminded Rufo and others of the beloved mother and former wife to Rufo.  As her resentment grew, Helen began to dole out harsh punishments to Angelean for typical childhood behaviors.

At first the harshness was known only within the apartment while Rufo was at work.  Before long, Rufo began to feel the effects of Helen’s resentment when he was at home with the family.  He observed the insincere ritual that Helen demanded each night in which the girls were required to kiss her goodnight before going to bed.  He noted that on one occasion Helen was angry and refused to allow the goodnight kisses, sending them off to bed without a goodnight kiss.  To his dismay, Rufo soon heard Helen go to the girls’ bedroom to angrily spank and chastise them for not kissing her goodnight. Rufo also became the target of Helen’s angry outburstsand grew increasingly concerned at the mean spirited way she disciplined the girls for the slightest perceived misbehavior.

Soon the harsh discipline escalated into outright physical abuse.  Helen had lost control of her own emotions; leading her to beat the girls physically to such an extent that neighbors could hear what was going on.  The neighbors began to talk among themselves about the horrible things they were hearing from the Martin’s apartment.  One day a neighbor, by the name of Wincel Lacy, saw Angelean sitting in the yard under a tree. Mrs. Lacy went outside to check on Angelean and asked her to come inside out of the heat.  But Angelean told her no, that she had to sit right there and not get up.  Mrs. Lacy told Angelean it was okay and that she would see to it.  As they walked up onto the porch, Mrs. Lacy was shocked to see black and blue marks on Angelean’s legs.  This prompted what was likely the first time the abuse was reported to Rufo and to local authorities.  But it would not be the last.

Mrs. Hazel Jones, a neighbor and recent acquaintance of Helen, heard the angry voice of their step-mother chastising the girls almost daily.  The outbursts were often followed by the sounds of the girls being whipped.  The beatings were so loud at times that Mrs. Jones could hear them from her home, the second house away.

The abuse reached a critical point when Rufo arrived home from work one Saturday evening and found Angelean lying in bed with ablood stained bandage wrapped around her head.  Helen had boiled water and prepared a bath for Angelean.  But the water was steaming and Angelean, afraid of being burned, refused to get into the galvanized tub that sat on the kitchen floor.  Helen, who had been fixing supper, held the big hog knife in her hand.  In a fit of rage Helen swung the knife at little Angelean.  The sharp edge of the knife struck a glancing blow along the hairline separating a 3 inch portion of Angelean’s scalp from her skull.  Horrified and disgusted at this act of violence, Rufo demanded that Helen get out of the apartment and not return.  The permanent separation beganthe next day on Sunday, September 21, 1947. 

On October 6, 1947, Rufo filed for divorce from Helen in the Cleburne County Chaucery Court.  On the same date, Helen filed an Entry of Appearance and Waivers, determined not to submit to a deposition and requested she be restored to her former and maiden name of Helen Louise Crawford when the final decree would be entered.  The final divorce actions were completed on October 23, 1947.

With the help of his family and neighbors in Heber Springs, Rufo, Dolias, and Angelean experienced a brief holiday season as a small family unit that Christmas of 1947.  Finally there was peace on earth and peace at home. Another special woman appeared on their father’s arm soon after.  Rufo married Modean Jernigan on 1/22/1948.  This would be the beginning of a lasting and stable family.  Two years later, the family would add another daughter, Patsy.  The age difference between the two older girls and Patsy along with other family dynamics would see the girls’ lives move on in different directions.  But this new family unit was loving and strong, enduring through the many changes on the horizon.  

Rufo transitioned from sharecropping to retail operations when he went to work at Young’s Department Store in Heber Springs.  His military and C.C. Camp experience with store and supply management provided a solid foundation for the retail business he would pursue the rest of his life.  At last there was stability at home and the community was growing.  The scenic landscapes of historic Sugar Loaf would soon be transformed into one of Arkansas’ most popular recreation and tourist locations.  The beautiful Little Red River would be forever changed from the quiet fishing and boating stream long enjoyed by locals when construction of the Greer’s Ferry Dam began in 1959.  That project and the ensuing population growth would bring prosperity to Heber Springs and especially to the long suffering family of Rufo Martin.  In 1960, Rufo attained an important goal when he opened his own furniture store in town.  
This new status coupled with his natural leadership skills and supportive wife, provided a springboard that launched Rufo and Modean on the path to prominent community leadership roles.  

The new prosperity provided a much different school and life experience for Patsy.  She loved horses and was allowed to have one of her own.  She was very active, always on the go and popular at school, in church programs, and other social activities.

For Angelean, the transition of Rufo’s career was mainly a source of work and labor as she was expected to help him by working part-time.  When he started the furniture store, Angelean’s workload there became even more significant.  When she graduated from Heber Springs High School in 1961, she promptly went to Memphis and enrolled in Beauty College.  This would be her primary career work for many years before she parlayed her retail experience into a more rewarding career and her own business in the Pawn Shop industry.

Very soon after arriving in Memphis in 1961, Angelean fell in love and married.  To this brief marriage a daughter, Kim was born.  Her first marriage ended due to the husband’s mental illness. Her second marriage was to a man who liked to move frequently and often leave unsettled debts behind. They moved often during the early years but started a family.  There were two sons, Lance and Tommy.  Eventually the failure of her husband to consistently meet the financial and emotional needs of the family resulted in this marriage ending in divorce.  But Angelean’s strength of character, built through hard times of grief and abuse made her determined to make it on her own.  And she did just that. In time, she married a strong reliable man, Gene Fisher, who remained steady and loyal.

In Heber Springs, Dolias was well known by prominent professional families who relied on her kind steady nature and practical skills to provide child care and other household work.  Because of her sincere efforts in school, Dolias was allowed to walk with her graduating classmates and receive a complimentary certificate.  She later completed the GED certification.  Because she was ever dependent on the support of her parents, they too came to rely on her services at their home.  She cooked, cleaned and provided other important services for them in exchange for the shelter of their home and family support.

Sadly, in her late 30s, Dolias developed a form of cancer which would appear under the skin over various parts of her body and become horrible looking areas like dark moles.  Soon the cancer spread rapidly and took her life on 6/17/1978 at the age of 38.

As related to me by Angie Martin in 2021

James Middleton 

5/2/2021

Sophia - The Artist

Following are four photos to introduce artist, Sophia: 


1.) Sophia and Daira outside The Color Factory in Houston
2.) Sophia in The Color Factory
3.) Portrait of James Middleton with grandsons Karter Middleton and Dylan Bell
4.) Portrait of Daira Moreno-Lopez dressed in cultural costume of her mother's village

About the Artist:


Sophia Chung (AKA: Chung Yen Jung)


Born March 20, 1996 in New Taipei City, Taiwan


Sophia attended private schools, graduating from high school in 2014.  She then attended university where she earned a degree in Russian Language.  As a part of this degree she did an internship in Moscow one summer.  During that time she traveled to St. Petersburg and other places in Russia.  On a couple of occasions, she hitchhiked on highways in the Moscow area, finding the people there kind and receptive to that form of transportation.


At age 14, she traveled to New York City to attend a Summer session through the EF Language Education program and visited Disney World in Florida.  At the age of 16, she traveled to San Diego, California for another summer session with the EF Language Education program.  During that Summer she visited Disneyland. On other occasions she visited London, England and Barcelona, Spain.


In September, 2019, Sophia enrolled in the study of Illustration at SCAD, the Savannah College of Art and Design in Savannah, Georgia, U.S.A.  At SCAD, Sophia met fellow student Daira Moreno-Lopez of Huatulco, Oaxaco, Mexico and also of The Woodlands, Texas.  During the long winter break at SCAD, Daira invited Sophia to visit her home in The Woodlands.  


It was during this visit that Sophia became acquainted with the Middleton family, long time residents of The Woodlands and family friends of the Moreno-Lopez family.  When she learned of Sophia’s talent as an artist and her interest in painting during her time in Texas, Judy Middleton selected a recent photo that Sophia could use as the subject of her first painting.  As it happens, Judy had created a studio in the former bedroom of her son, Jon.  The studio was already outfitted with a good easel which Sophia found to be perfect for the job.


Daira’s mother, Nora Toledo-Lopez, shopped for paints, brushes, canvases, and other supplies with Sophia to make the studio ready for use.  Although the room was cramped due to hundreds of old family photos stored there, Sophia created a beautiful portrait of James Middleton holding grandsons Karter Middleton and Dylan Bell on his lap.  The photo was taken by Judy at the Guadalajara Mexican Grill in The Woodlands in November, 2019 when the family gathered there to celebrate Judy’s 70^th birthday.  


Sophia’s time in The Woodlands spanned the period of 11/15/2019 to 01/03/2020.


By: James Middleton  1/9/2020

Beer, Bikes, Hot Rods, & Beer

Were you ever out on a road trip with friends at night;

A cold winter night when frost was on the grass,

And you needed to pee real bad from the beers you’d drank,

So you parked on a deserted shoulder and stood behind the car,

Happy no headlights were in sight as you unzip and sigh with relief,

Taking a deep breath of the cold night air mingled with exhaust;

Sounds of the engine, loud music, and that splashing sound?

Remember the exhilarating feeling of cold air in your nostrils,

Sucked in through a numb feeling nose with a hint of beer breath?

Do you remember?

Ernie Perkins and some of our high school friends remember.

I still remember and sometimes long for that feeling.

Though rare now in older years and a warmer climate,

There are occasions, few and far between, when it happens;

Perhaps in Oklahoma or Kansas, out on a lonely road on a chilly night

I’ll stand there, checking for headlights, shivering in the cold wind

And breathe in that mixture of exhaust laden air through a numby nose

Listening to a deep toned exhaust and loud music from the radio

Drifting back to a time when Ernie and the boys were young

When the unknown road stretched out ahead

And our hearts were full of hope for hot rods, motorcycles and beer;

Always Beer!

Ernest Boyd Perkins 1948-2018

Moving to Chelsea

Back in 1960 when I was thirteen years old, my family moved from Henryetta, Oklahoma to Chelsea, Oklahoma.  It was an impressionable age for a kid to start over in a different town and a new school.  Fortunately for me there was someone in Chelsea who helped make the transition a lot smoother than it might otherwise have been.  This is the story of how I met Ernest Boyd Perkins, my original friend in Chelsea.

My Dad, Everett Middleton, was an auto mechanic.  Business had been slow at Progressive Chevrolet in Henryetta where he worked.  One cold winter day in January, 1960, Boyd Perkins, the Chevrolet dealer from Chelsea, stopped by Progressive to visit with mechanics in the shop.  He was looking for a good mechanic and was willing to pay the standard mechanic’s commission rate but would guarantee a minimum of $75.00 a week to the right man.  Not long after Boyd Perkins’ visit, Dad earned a paltry $45.00 pay and began to wonder what the future would hold for him there in Henryetta.  After a couple weeks of mulling over the possibility of moving his family 100 miles away from the long time family center, Dad decided to drive up to Chelsea and find out whether that job was still available.  He was only forty years old but had five children; two older girls, Joyce and Geraldine, off in college at Northeastern in Tahlequah, my fifteen year old sister, Sandra, eight year old Elaine, and me.

On a Saturday morning in late February, Dad, Mom (Berneice), Sandra, Elaine, and I traveled up U.S. Highway 75 to Tulsa and along Route 66 to Claremore in our dark green 1952 Chevrolet Deluxe sedan.  Heading north out of Claremore past Sequoyah and Foyil, the landscape changed to a stark brown prairie bordered on the east and west by leafless gray trees covering craggy hills.  The earlier anticipation and curiosity of visiting this place called Chelsea seemed to dampen as we drove further out into this unfamiliar countryside.  At last we topped that now familiar grade where the two lane road opened up to a four lane highway with a wide center median of grass.  So this was Chelsea!  Not nearly as big as Henryetta (Henryetta was a town of 5,000 population ), Chelsea had a population of about 1,500.  The main highway, Route 66, ran parallel to the Frisco railroad along the east side of the business district.  At the town’s only stop light at 6th Street, we made the left turn onto the main drag heading west over the railroad tracks and two or three blocks to where the Perkins Chevrolet dealership was located on the north side of the street, on the northeast corner of 6^th and Vine.

Parking in an angle parking space near the front of the dealership, Dad left us in the car and walked into the front entrance of the place to try and find Boyd Perkins.  He returned a short while later and we headed back down Route 66 toward Henryetta.  Apparently there was not an immediate need for a mechanic at Perkins Chevrolet.  That was a disappointment for Dad but somewhat of a relief for the hometown family.

Later that year, in early June, Mr. Perkins contacted Dad and asked to meet him in Tulsa in a parking lot at 51^st and Peoria.  Naturally, Everett would not go there alone.  So around 6:00 PM, “quitting time” at Progressive Chevrolet, Mom, Sandra, Elaine, and I were waiting outside along 3^rd Street near Trudgeon, when Dad got off work.  He climbed in behind the wheel of that Chevrolet Deluxe, six cylinder sedan with a two speed powerglide transmission and drove us up the Beeline, U.S. Highway 75, to Tulsa.  It was well past dinner time when we pulled into the parking lot and found Mr. Perkins there sitting alone in a beautiful red and white 1959 Chevrolet Impala four door hardtop sedan.  In what I would come to know as his characteristically grand style, Boyd Perkins climbed out of his car and greeted all of us eloquently, repeating our names, shaking our hands and inviting us to join him in an adjacent cafeteria for dinner on him.  This was indeed a special treat for us as we rarely ate outside our home at 701 West Jefferson Street in Henryetta.  Needless to say, Mr. Perkins was impressed with Dad’s experience and the character of a man who was proud to bring his poorly dressed family along to a job interview.  The job was offered and accepted then and there.

So, for the remainder of that summer, Dad worked in Chelsea, taking a room in the Chelsea Hotel, just south across 6^th street from Perkins Chevrolet.  I don’t recall who it was who helped Dad haul his tools to Chelsea.  It was likely my older cousin, Howard Joe Middleton.  But Dad was left there in Chelsea without a car.  Imagine our surprise the following Friday night when a big 1958 Chevrolet with duel headlights pulled into our driveway just after dark.  It was Dad driving a nice used car from the Perkins Chevrolet used car lot.  Again, Mr. Boyd Perkins showed his generosity by initiating this practice which allowed Dad to drive home each weekend to be with the family.  We never knew what sort of cool car he might drive week to week.

  The next morning after he had driven that 1958 Chevy home for the first time, I went out on the dirt driveway to take a closer look at the car parked in the shade of the big elm tree there.  For the first time, I saw the impressive mascot of the Chelsea Green Dragons football team in the form of a sticker on the back window of the vehicle.  A feeling of wonder and inspiration came over me as I looked at that novel logo and imagined what it might be like to be one of them.

In August, the last week before Labor Day Weekend, Dad invited me to return with him to Chelsea on Sunday night.  What a great feeling it was to head north out of Henryetta with Dad.  Two hours later, we arrived in Chelsea to find the streets quiet, practically empty.  His room at the Chelsea Hotel was on the top floor in the southwest corner.  He told me how much he liked that corner room because of the nice breezes that swept across the bed at night when all the windows were open.  Of course the rooms at the Chelsea Hotel were not air conditioned and the bathroom was a shared one down the hall.   Air conditioning was a luxury in those days and we had never had air conditioning at home.  In fact we didn’t have a telephone in our home in Henryetta.  If we needed to make a call we went next door to Aunt Mildred’s house.  And the subject of a telephone would present itself later on in Chelsea as another example of Mr. Perkins’ relationship with my Dad.

That first Monday morning in Chelsea was another seminal moment in my introduction to the culture of the town.  All summer long, Dad had come back to Henryetta with stories of life in Chelsea.  One of his favorite stories to relate concerned having breakfast at Ed South’s Café.  Dad would talk in great detail about watching Mr. South slice off generous portions of smoked ham and flop them onto the grill as he prepared Dad’s favorite ham and eggs with biscuits and gravy.  These accounts had made us all envious of the breakfasts he enjoyed there each morning.  He spoke of the exquisite quality and flavor of the ham, letting us know how much he had savored the meals in this unique cafe.  So it was with a great sense of anticipation, I walked the block and a half along the sidewalk with Dad that morning in late August awaiting the sights and sounds of Ed South’s Café.

The  café and bakery was located in a typical old business building next door to a pool hall.  Inside, the aroma of meats cooking and freshly brewed coffee filled the drab room.  Dad and I found a couple of spots at the counter on tall stools between other customers.  At tables were other patrons, mostly men, some dressed in overalls appearing to be farmers. At another table was a big guy in boots and a western hat whom I imagined to be a rancher or rodeo cowboy.   Behind the counter, wearing a white apron and a paper hat was the Ed South of Dad’s familiar stories, working at the sizzling grill, pressing sausage patties before flipping them over with a large metal spatula.  Eventually Mr. South turned to us and with an unenthusiastic “Good morning, what’ll it be?”, asked for our breakfast order.  Ham and eggs of course, with biscuits and gravy was our predictable response.  Mom had served me coffee for breakfast with plenty of cream and sugar ever since I could remember so naturally I wanted coffee, too.  The food that morning lived up to the billing Dad had promoted for weeks.

The place appeared to serve a multitude of purposes.  Over on the west wall, near an alley side door, were a couple of pinball machines with which I would later become familiar.  And at a counter at the north end of the cluttered room were offered a variety of items for sale, including snacks and cigars.  The latter would also prove to be of some significance during my time in this town.

As was his custom, Dad embarrassed me by introducing me to Mr. South anyone with whom he may have made even the most casual acquaintance over the summer.  It was many years later that I came to understand and appreciate how important it was for him to have a son and to share a close relationship with me.  His father’s sudden death at an early age when Dad was only ten years old left a void that remained always present though never a source for pity or remorse in him.

Full of ham and a true believer in Ed South’s cuisine, I accompanied Dad back up the main street of town past Vandeveer Rexall Drug, Maupin’s Clothing, Lowery’s Furniture, Ben Franklins, Leroy’s Barber Shop, and Milam Petroluem to Perkins Chevrolet.  We entered into a small area that seemed way too small to be a new car showroom.  Instead, the room had the feel of a parts store.  A contoured L-shaped parts counter dominated the room with active parts bins behind it giving the place that familiar and pleasing smell to which I had become accustomed while accompanying Dad on many a late night at the dealership in Henryetta. Colorful brochures and picture displays were situated around the showroom among casual seating.  Of special interest to me were the water fountain, salted peanut and gumball machines.

Suddenly, a sharp voice pierced the silence.  “Everett, is this that boy you’ve been telling us about?”  Shaken from my trance of taking in this new place, I turned and came face to face with Mattie Perkins, an attractive middle aged lady with dark hair and make up to match her energetic voice.  “James Everett, your daddy has told me all about you and your four sisters.  Welcome to Chelsea, son.”  I took her outstretched hand and felt the warmth and strength of a woman of true compassion and character.  I could tell by the way she greeted me and Dad that morning that we were wanted here, that this could be a place to start again.  “I’ll call Ernest Boyd”, she said, “I want you to meet our son. He’s about your age.”

From the back office area came Boyd Perkins with his gallant walk and prominent demeanor, “Well, it’s about time you boys showed up.  We get started early around here young man.”  He put his big hand on my shoulder and walked with Dad and me out to the shop.  It was a classic auto service shop.  New cars were inside being prepared for show as well as cars in stalls apparently being serviced or repaired.  There were two big doors along the west wall of the building and a body repair shop at the back along the alley. 

After a brief tour, Mr Perkins said, “James, I have to get back to my office, but I want you to know how happy we are to have Everett here with us.  In the past two months I have seen what a good man your father is and he is the best mechanic we have had.  Chelsea is a good town.  I think you will like it here.”   

I walked over to where Dad was talking to a couple of men.  As always, he was eager to introduce me.  First was Cletus Coffey.  He was a big friendly guy, a mechanic from Coweta, Oklahoma who had only started work a couple weeks before.   The cool thing about Cletus was that he had a 1938 Chevy that he was restoring and had installed a Chevy V-8 engine in it.  Next up, Dad introduced me to Dewey Layton, the auto body repairman.  Dewey was a very friendly guy, easy to talk to.

Finally, Dad introduced me to Sylvester Riley, a black man, who had worked at the dealership for many years.  Mr. Riley, known to most as Syl, performed many functions including vehicle service, washing, and new car preparation.  His was the only black family in town at that time.  Dad had spoken highly of Sylvester and I could sense that it was very important to Dad that I meet him. During the next six years, I was fortunate to know Mr. Riley, his brother, his son Willard, and a rural community north of Chelsea, affording me the opportunity to appreciate the common truths of humanity and begin my personal journey toward better racial and cultural understanding.

No sooner had I shaken hands with Syl, when a short stocky kid came riding into the shop on a bicycle.  Simultaneously, Mattie Perkins came into the shop and called me over to where she stood with the bicycle guy.  “James”, she said, “I want you to meet Ernest Boyd.  He is 12 years old and will be in the 7^th grade this year.  Why don’t you go to the ball park with Ernest Boyd.  He is going to meet some boys there.”  

Ernie and I shook hands.  He had a friendly smile that made me feel at ease with him right away.  He told me that some guys were going to meet at the football field to play some touch football.  School would be starting next week and football practice would start as well.  Everyone was excited about that and wanted to get a head start.  “Here, hop up on my handlebars and I’ll give you a ride to the football field.  It’s not too far.”  Before I could straddle the front wheel, put my feet on the ends of the axle and sit up on the handle bars, there was a loud blast of horn honking from the street beside the shop.  I turned to see a large red 1959 Ford farm truck stopped in the street.  Behind the wheel was a young kid who looked to be about our age.  He was calling to Ernie.  Dangling from his outstretched hand was a pair of football shoes.  “Hey Ernie, I got some new cleats!” he said enthusiastically.  “Oh hey Larry”, Ernie hollered back as he got off the bike and parked it on the kick stand.

I followed Ernie out into the street to where “Larry” sat in the idling truck.  I was impressed by the size of that truck and wondered how this kid could be driving at such a young age.

“I’m on my way to the football field.” He shouted down from the cab.  “Are you going Ernie?”

“Yes, we’ll meet you there.”  Ernie replied.  “Larry, I want you to meet James.  He is moving to town.  He will be in 8^th grade.”  “James, this is Larry Delozier.  His dad is a rancher.  They live out on Highway 28 north of town”.  Larry reached down from the cab and shook my outstretched hand.  “It’s nice to meet you James.  Are you going out for football?” 

“Yeah, I think so” I replied. 

“Ok”, Larry said, “See you guys down there”, as he drove away in the truck waving and looking like he had been driving for years.

Through the remaining years of my life, Ernie Perkins was an important character in memories of all things Chelsea; all things involving cars, motorcycles, beer, and our shared family and girlfriend experiences.  All through junior high and high school, occasional visits as adults in Tulsa and his home place in Liberty Mounds we considered ourselves close and lasting friends.  We didn’t see each often but when we did it was as if it had only been a week or so since the last meeting.  Our last talk was by phone last year.  We talked until the battery died on one phone then connected on another phone and ran that battery down.  So much to talk about; so many memories of Chelsea in the 1960s.

And so it was with sadness that I read today that Ernie had passed away yesterday.  He will live on in my memory.

James Middleton

April 11, 2018