June 21, 2018
Volume 48 - No. 25
By Pete Peterson
World War Two is over. Harry Truman is president. The much promised business upswing is Missing in Action. A storm of the century destroys farms, crops and roads. In the middle of this turmoil, my brother struggles to get Dad to a hospital after Dad’s paralyzing stroke.
After three days of hard rain that turned shallow creeks into raging rivers, washed out roads and overflowed farm ponds the morning of January 10, 1949 broke frigid, with The The Paper Paper -- 760.747.7119 760.747.7119
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a gunmetal gray sky spitting BBsized sleet and a west wind that snapped off tree limbs and cut through winter clothes like a needle. Harry Truman is president. World War II is over. It’s hard scrapple time in the Missouri Ozarks, the promised post-war boom Missing In Action. The wind whips the elm tree beside our house as I bundle up on the back porch for the three-mile trek to school. An Army surplus overcoat, three buckle rubber boots, a wool cap with ear muffs, and a prayer that the rain stops falling.
My older brother, Forrest, up and out at 4 a.m. to tend his trap line, pulls on dry overalls and a wool shirt, wolfs down bacon and oatmeal, then crosses the yard in long strides. “Whatcha waitin’ on, Asshole, Christmas?” He’s all ears, elbows, and feet. His name is on the board at W.A. Rootes Wool & Fur in Tebbetts, showing a payment of $45.00 for the mink he caught, skinned and sold them. Money that bought our winter clothes. He’ll turn fourteen in February. Uncle Jim, Momma's brother,
who’s lived with us since before she died, taps my shoulder. "Johnston's dead. Beauregard needs ya." Family lore says he was seven when he held horses at the Civil War Battle of Shiloh, in April 1862. That makes him eighty-seven if my arithmetic’s right. In high school I learned General Johnston, who commanded Confederate forces in that long-ago fight with the Feds, was killed the first day, and General P.G.T. Beauregard replaced him. Uncle Jim will take memories of that fierce battle to his grave, I reckon.
A Long Winter Storm - See Page 2