Happy Anniversary to My Aunt and Uncle
For their 50th Anniversary April 9, 2005
By Claudia Johnson
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| Martha and Richard, 1950s |
In some distant future when some nosy genealogist
(like me) researches our family, we will appear as mere lines on a family
chart. It will indicate that I am the daughter of Martha’s sister, Okaleen, and
Richard is Martha’s husband, making him my uncle by marriage – proof positive
that the most accurate family tree cannot begin to diagram relationships.
You two as a couple and individually are part of the
very fabric of which my life is crafted, perhaps in many ways, a part of the
stitching itself.
As long as I have conscious memory, you are woven in
it, a recurring pattern, comfortable and comforting.
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| Edward, Richard & Martha, 1955 |
The memory of the day my little brother was born has
you picking me up and taking me to the old hospital at Ethridge. I am not sure
if this is true, but no one has ever told me this, so I think it is real. And
there’s this little nagging detail that supports that it’s a credible memory. I
think we looked in the refrigerator, and a bottle of something was
spilled…maybe Geritol? I might have spilled it, who knows? But there you were,
ready to give my brother his middle name just as you did me.
Some of my most treasured childhood memories are waiting for you all to
get to the house on a weekend. I’d beg to stay up if you were running late. It
was the best part of the week. Life never has been better than those nights of
you adults talking in our old house, laughing and joking, and me listening (and
getting in trouble for butting in).
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| Russell home in Donaldson |
I remember crossing the Cumberland on a ferry when
you lived in Donelson, going to Rudy’s Farms, touring the Hermitage and driving
to the Parthenon to see the giant lighted nativity scene on the lawn.
I
remember an ice cream parlor in the Arcade downtown that gave away helium
balloons, the Christmas and Easter displays for children in the department
stores before there were malls, the big neon Coke advertisement that magically
poured the coke into a glass at some intersection in Nashville, going to
Zayre’s where Mama bought me some pink flip flops and a little flower watering
can, later those big hamburgers at the Castner Knott grill, a horrible day at
Teresa’s daycare when someone was in the hospital, your address (3805 Briar
Cliff Court) and phone number (VE2-7240) and that your bathroom was lavender.
Almost every youthful memory of my Daddy and Uncle
Richard is related to hunting or fishing, either coming or going or cleaning
the kill or catch or eating it. Sometimes I can still smell the exact
combination of that smell of crappie, biscuits, gravy, perked coffee and
scrambled eggs after a fishing trip on Old Hickory Lake. Barry, Teresa and I
would still be sleeping, and the aroma would wake us up, daring us into the
kitchen-dining area.
That was the smell of happy days, of daddies that we could count on and
mothers who made sure we had the best piece of fish and the biggest biscuit.
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| Teresa Lynne |
The safety of that placed never changed, but the
world outside of it is hard. It is those smells and tastes that gave us
strength for later, when we needed
it most.
One of the happiest days of our lives was July 3,
1964. We waited all day to find out about “the baby.” When Uncle Richard
called, he talked to me, too, and told me that she had a head of long black
hair. I thought she might look like Priscilla Presley with that description.
Thankfully, she was prettier. She and I — heck, we all — fussed and fought, but
I have loved her since the minute I knew she was in this world.
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| Claudia, Teresa & Barry |
When Aunt Martha was working at Castner Knott and Uncle Richard would
come down before sunrise on Saturday mornings, Barry and I would awaken to find
ourselves sandwiching Teresa Lynne. We both wanted to hug her. When Tim was big
enough, all four of us would end up piled in that bed. Our Mama (or Aunt Okie)
having done 500 things before we even woke up, might be in the garden or
cutting the yard or cooking something we all loved for lunch. She’d be worried
that Aunt Martha would be tired and have a wreck on the way down that night,
worried that she would be hungry – not that anyone in our family has ever
missed a meal or a snack.
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| Claudia, Teresa, Tim & Barry '60s |
If all four of us kids were there and we had one coke
and one candy bar, mother would measure and cut absolutely equal parts of the
candy bar and pour the sweet brown liquid equally into crystal wedding oat
glasses.
I know and knew then that as much as humanly possibly and somewhat
divinely possible, my mother loved Teresa and Tim as much as she did Barry and
me. She just did not give birth to them, but the fact her sisters did was good
enough. I could never tell that any of us were treated any differently than the
others, and that was very comforting. It taught me a lesson in fairness early
on, not to mention unconditional love.
Speaking of love, Teresa loved watermelon, so we
usually had one when she was there in summer. One night after she foundered
herself on warm ones from the field, we spent a nice night at the hospital with
her spewing pink puke all the way. And she loved to play “Barbies,” the pursuit
of which encompassed all the Saturdays of years of our lives since I loved them
too. If there is anything that I wish Teresa and I could completely recapture,
it would be the sheer abandon with which we played Barbies. Mine are in my
china cabinet, a memorial to our girlish, halcyon days.
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| Okie and Martha, best friends |
I’ve often said that I had the coolest haircuts and dos because my aunt
was first a beauty school student, then an accomplished beautician. It was so
exciting to have her whip out that white “kit” and start “twisting” our hair or
painting nails or giving a perm. It was a performance every time. Martha was
the star, glamorous in her frosted, tipped, bobbed, streaked, dyed, beached or
whatever-the-rage hair. Granny or Mama were the best supporting actresses. The
dialogue was all ad-lib, no script needed there. Aunt Martha could hold ten
clippies in her mouth, have a curler on every finger, wield two pairs of
scissors and still tell the most intriguing stories of life in the big city.
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| Beautician |
Between these sessions and the Sunday afternoons in
Granny’s den, my penchant for news and story telling began. I could hardly
sleep hearing the horrible stories of beaten babies, perverted men who lured
little children to cars with promises of candy, missing girl scouts and wanton
women who slept with metro cops (thought I didn’t hear that didn’t you?).
Aunt Mott was cool, I mean groovy. She wore hot pants
and vinyl boots, red flowery culottes, a star-covered see-through
blouse….whatever was the fad, and this was just for work. I recall my mother
whipping up maternity clothes and other outfits for Aunt Martha, and how both
women became the queens of the upscale clearance sale.
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| Uncle Richard, Barry & Claudia |
Other fun memories are of Aunt Martha “laying out” on
the picnic table Daddy built because she was afraid a worm would get on her;
teaching me to eat pinto beans with the you-eat-one-I’ll-eat-one method; and
(justifiably) bragging about her gorgeous legs. She was the first person I ever
knew that went to a gym (Roman Health Spa, at 100 Oaks.)
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| Russells in 1970s |
Uncle Richard was always our entertainer. My friend
Connie referred to him as Uncle Funny, and it was true. He said something when I rode home with
him to Nashville one time that only I heard, but I will never cease to recall
it and laugh under certain circumstances. He was driving in that relaxed
salesman way that made my Daddy always say, “Man keep your hands on the
steering wheel” or something related, when suddenly two birds flew out of
nowhere and slammed into the car, bouncing lifelessly to the road.
Without even hesitating, he quipped, “Now that’s the
way you kill two birds with one car.”
Barry thought Uncle Richard was the best thing, and Uncle Richard seemed
to return the sentiment. Our Uncle Richard was the first sports nut I knew, one
of a long, long line, I’m afraid. He also set the standard for lawn grooming, a
standard to which neither Barry or I have ever aspired.
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| Trip to Florida, 1969 |
The two families took a trip to Florida in 1969 and
another to the Smokies in 1973. Both times we all laughed till it hurt, sharing
motel rooms, campers, picnics and sunburns.
Good days were when we all gathered around the piano
and the adults sang while Granny, then later Aunt Martha played the piano. But
there were myriads of good days, and they are really not embellished by memory
or tarnished by grief.
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| Singing on Sunday |
We have loved, lost, fought, hugged, sang, cried. We
have endured illnesses, divorces, disappointments. We have prayed for fragile
babies and buried aged parents and grandparents. And together, we, Aunt Martha,
Uncle Richard, my Daddy, my Mama and I, waited as Mama crossed from this life
to eternity, on of all days, your anniversary.
I love you
both. Thanks for sharing your life with us.
