1999 Allen and Ousley Reunions

The Allen reunion falls on the first Sunday in June (June 6, 1999) and was held at the old Bethel United Methodist Church in Cyril, Choctaw County, Alabama. The Ousley reunion occurs on the second Sunday in June (June 13, 1999). We celebrated this year in Bessemer, Alabama.

Reunions can be painful coming-togethers best left to old folks. Most young men and women want no part of them, or so it appears.

We heard many excuses for not attending: too busy; can't take time off from work; it's too far; the kids are involved in summer camp; and so on. And they are right. Reunions shouldn't command a high priority. Who wants to be bored at yet another family get-together? Perhaps once or twice in a lifetime, but not every year. Forget it.

What's to do but make small talk with relatives who are vague acquaintances, at best? You certainly won't be entertained; you can't network for better job opportunities; and it's doubtful that you will learn anything of value. Save limited vacation days for a trip that you could really look forward to.

Moreover, who enjoys seeing the wrinkled and blotched skin, twisted fingers, and stooped shoulders of an older aunt or uncle, mother or father? Better to remember them as they were—happy and full of vigor.

No, we shouldn't fault young adults and others for staying away. They need to get on with their lives. We can't forget that they have paid their dues in subordinate relationships many times over. And we must admit we're selfish. We love to bask in the light given off by our thirty-something sons and daughters, their spouses, and children. It's very affirming to be a part of their lives in a group setting, no matter how old we become. I suppose we'll always want to show them off. We're proud of our offspring and their families.

Nevertheless, as old folks, our challenge is to exit gracefully without clinging to stage center, cataloging our infirmities and droning on about the "good old days." It's wrong to hound or cajole our adult children, nieces, and nephews about attending the "next" reunion. We must find fulfillment within and not depend upon young adults and children to nourish our egos.

And yet, older relatives may hold special keys that could unlock the mysteries of who we are and where we may be headed. Observing them may tell us more about ourselves than all the pop psychology books crowding the best-seller lists.

No matter how humble their station, old people are powerful, living links to our past. In the popular vernacular, they've likely "been there, done that" and will tell it like it is. Hearing old stories repeated and absorbing the insights could serve as helpful guides to living. If we listen carefully, the future may not seem so scary or predictable as TV's talking heads suggest.

I believe the ancient Hebrews understood this universal truth. They even codified it as one of the Ten Commandments: "Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long in the land." What better way to honor parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and ourselves than by celebrating together at annual reunions?

It's really about sensitivity and including rather than excluding people from your life. Yes, and old age overtakes everyone. If you don't get it, wait until your hair turns silver.

ALLEN REUNION

By ones and twos, families began arriving on Sunday, June 6, for the Allen reunion. This year, folks met under the covered roof of the old Canning Center in front of Bethel United Methodist Church.

Originally, FDR's government agents built the Canning Center in the nineteen thirties as a place to teach the community wives how to preserve their fruits and vegetables. (Rural areas in those days did not have electricity.)

In the beginning, the Center had a dirt floor and slatted tables and was screened to keep out insects. Today, the rebuilt Center looks like any other covered patio. Free-standing tables and benches sit on a concrete floor, and the breezes generated by two large ceiling fans, recently installed by Lamar Bailey, keep most flying insects away.

By noon, two dozen family and friends had gathered under the shelter. Platters of fried chicken, bowls of potato salad, and Aunt Maggie's famous peach cobbler lined the tables. Laughter and conversation filled the air as we feasted. It's rumored that even the attending red bugs, ants, mosquitoes, and horseflies had a good time.

Present were Norma Jean and Monk Beddingfield; Aunt Maggie (Allen) Chenault; Judy (Aunt Maggie's daughter); Judy's husband, Gene; and their daughter, Brooke. Aunt Ina Ruth (Allen) Doggett was there with her daughter, Dianne, and her husband, Neal. Uncle James Allen joined us, as did Leon and Mary Ruth Graham. Keith and Kathy Beddingfield came with their son, Matthew. Theresa and Phil Bailey were there with their daughter, Haley. Lamar Bailey, Norman and Becky Bailey, and their sons, Brian and Brett, also attended. Elvin and Sharon Shepherd brought their daughter, Sha, and Cal and Frances Johnson rounded out the group.

A Changing Landscape

The church and adjoining cemetery sit about seventy-five yards back from the main dirt road. Across the road, where a pine forest once stood, the land had been cleared, leaving a stark expanse of red dirt. Deep furrows scarred the earth, evidence of recent logging.

How different the landscape looks today from when I first visited in 1961! Back then, well-cultivated fields surrounded neat farmhouses stationed along the dirt road. Now, they have been replaced by dense pine groves. Only two families remain in this remote but once-thriving farm community.

Bethel United Methodist Church

Bethel United Methodist Church is a plain, box-like, wooden building. It's no different from thousands of similar, small churches in obscure, rural counties scattered about the land. Church literature says that in 1873, Rosier Neil donated two acres to the Cyril community for a school and a church. Lorenzo Camp built the present church in 1902 using the foundation blocks of the original 1874 church. This Spartan building has been in continuous use for almost 100 years.

Services are held at 3:00 p.m. on the first Sunday of each month. The present congregation is small (services average 14 members) but dedicated to keeping the church and the cemetery shipshape and squared away.

The first Sunday in October is set aside as the Annual Homecoming Day. I'm told that Homecoming draws a crowd of current and former members along with family and friends. A special service and musical program are preceded by a picnic where families share favorite recipes.

To my mind, this austere church is as grand as the magnificent, 700-year-old Gothic cathedral at Chartres in France. I say this because the people (there were only 16 families in the original community) responsible for Bethel had very limited resources; whereas, the Cathedral at Chartres had the backing of a highly organized and wealthy church in league with a dictatorial civil government.

The people of Chartres were interested in a display of their devotion through grandeur. The people of Bethel sacrificed for a place to worship. To me, the honest simplicity of Bethel balances nicely against the flying buttresses, beautiful stained glass windows and sculptured religious figures of Chartres. Both deserve equal places in our hearts.

At 3:00 p.m., an unpaid, circuit-riding preacher began the service. The congregation—all seventeen of us—selected and sang songs accompanied on the piano by Aunt Ina Ruth (Allen) Doggett. Spirited voices made up for our lack of harmony—well, almost.

The minister put everything he had and then some into his message. 45 minutes into the sermon, my back hurt from sitting on a hard, upright wooden pew. I fidgeted. My mind wandered. Who will keep this place going when Lamar Bailey, Uncle James Allen, the Douglas sisters and Dianne are gone?

I remembered a lazy summer day in 1990 when Lucille (Ousley) Sofge and Evelyn (Ousley) Bailey pointed out the location of the old log school and the store. They laughed and their eyes sparkled with tears as they told me stories of their childhood days at Cyril in the early nineteen thirties.

Lucille recalled how Evelyn pulled the hair of a girl who had tormented her. Somehow, the idea of sweet and gentle Evelyn defending her baby sister in a schoolyard didn't surprise me.

From Church to Reunion

Leaving the peaceful quiet of Bethel behind, we headed to Bessemer for the Ousley family reunion. It was quite a change of pace!

OUSLEY REUNION

The 1999 Ousley Reunion was held at the Ramada Inn in Bessemer off I-59. Frances and I, along with the Texas Ousleys (Secar's grandchildren), Sonny and Mary Ousley, and Earl and Nita (Ousley) Richter, arrived Friday evening. We dined at a local Bar-B-Que restaurant to see if Alabama's version met Texas standards. It did.

Returning to the motel, we met Mary Turner in the lobby. The women joined in a hotly contested game of dueling photographs that went on for an hour without a single time out.

On Saturday morning, we piled into Earl's car and set off to explore Birmingham. Nita, our self-appointed tour guide, navigated us through the city center, pointing out historical landmarks and sharing local lore. We even stumbled upon a charming park with a stunning view of the skyline, where we stopped for a picnic lunch. By early afternoon, we were back at the Ramada Inn, just as the rest of the family started to arrive.

Families began checking in, and soon the lobby was buzzing with activity. Several of us were sitting and talking, catching up on each other's lives, when suddenly a small mouse scurried across the floor. It stopped right in front of us, sat up on its hind legs, and looked around as if inspecting the newcomers. "Well, hello there!" Frances exclaimed, while the rest of us shrieked and jumped up. The mouse, startled by the commotion, darted under a nearby couch. "I am never sitting on that couch!" Mary declared, and the rest of the women quickly agreed.

The motel had set aside a pool-side room for the reception. Mary and her son, Sam Ousley, had filled the room with cookies, cakes, and fruit trays with plenty of cold drinks. But the air conditioning couldn't keep up with the crowd and the summer heat. The room was stifling, and people were starting to wilt. Seeing the situation, Sam quickly made arrangements for us to use the hotel's spacious, air-conditioned ballroom. We gratefully relocated, spreading out and enjoying the extra space and cooler temperatures.

A Family Gathering

Despite the unexpected mouse encounter and the summer heat, the Ousley reunion was a heartwarming gathering. It was a chance to reconnect with family, share stories and laughter, and create new memories. As I watched the generations mingle and interact, I was reminded of the enduring bonds of family and the importance of these reunions in keeping those bonds strong.

Initially, we were stiff and reserved. It's asking a lot for people who haven't seen each other in a year or more to open up quickly. Conversations stuttered and stalled, punctuated by awkward silences and nervous laughter. Everyone seemed to be sizing each other up, trying to bridge the gap of time and distance.

Vernon Porter and I found common ground joking about our Dogpatch President and the Great Enabler, Hillary Rodham Clinton. She would make a good, absentee senator for the Empire State. New York feminists richly deserve the Hillary version of Tammy Wynette's "Stand by Your Man."

That evening, Sam Ousley had arranged for our party to dine at "John's" in downtown Birmingham. We arrived at 7:00 p.m. Our party of 66 took up two dining rooms on the second floor.

Early in the evening, management told us that one of the kitchen staff had cut his hand. They said that dinner would be delayed—what an understatement! It took over three hours to be served, and then some didn't get what they ordered.

In spite of being hungry and annoyed, we enjoyed a memorable evening of conversation and storytelling. We had enough time to exhaust most subjects and ourselves. As the hours wore on, the initial stiffness melted away, replaced by genuine warmth and camaraderie. Laughter filled the room, and stories flowed freely, weaving a tapestry of shared history and family bonds.

Sunday morning after breakfast, Jolene and Curtis James invited the families of Elsie and Arthur Ousley to their home. We spent a few hours in a much smaller gathering swapping tales and talking about the next reunion. I was pleased to see Merle Shepherd recovering nicely from her broken arm and recent illness.

ON THE ROAD

My notes record that we departed Houston on June 4 and returned on June 15. We drove 2253 miles and consumed 91.4 gallons of gasoline for an average of 24.6 miles per gallon. Generally, the weather was fair with occasional showers to break the heat.

Since where we overnighted is of no particular interest and what we did when not "reunioning" beside the point, I will hurry through my impressions.

In our travels, I couldn't help but notice a change in the atmosphere of the South. The gentle manners and ingrained courtesy I remembered from my youth seemed to be fading. At a gas station outside of Mobile, a young cashier thrust my change at me without a word, let alone a "thank you." In a diner in Tuscaloosa, I waited in vain for a "please" or "excuse me" as fellow patrons jostled past. It seemed that the hurried pace and impersonal nature of modern life had taken their toll on the traditional Southern charm.

Sullen attitudes of rudeness and incivility, as seen on "The Jerry Springer Show," have crept into general usage. Social discourse is filled with the crudities one used to associate with New York street talk. I suppose we can thank TV for the universal acceptance of vulgarities passing for wit in everyday conversation.

Our journey took us east (from Houston) to Meridian, Mississippi, where we stayed from June 4 until June 10 in the Combined Bachelor Quarters at the Naval Air Station Meridian. Staying on a space-available basis at a military installation is one of the few remaining perks for retired military.

We had a suite of rooms with cooking facilities, but we ate a few meals in the General Mess (enlisted dining hall). I enjoyed mixing once again with smartly uniformed young men and women who act as though they have some purpose in life.

Staying at the Base while in Meridian allowed us to spend several days visiting with Lamar, Phil, Theresa, Haley, Monk and Norma Jean without imposing on their hospitality. In addition to wonderful dinners at Lamar's and Norma Jean's—where we feasted on platters of fried chicken, collard greens with smoky bacon, and melt-in-your-mouth peach cobbler—we dined at the Casino near Philadelphia on the Indian Reservation.

What a unique experience that was! The casino itself was a sprawling complex, a glittering oasis in the midst of the rural landscape. Inside, the air buzzed with excitement, a cacophony of ringing slot machines and boisterous chatter. Several hundred people, a mix of locals and tourists, were lined up at all seven buffet tables, eagerly piling their plates high with everything from prime rib to crab legs. On Tuesdays, two eat for the price of one, a bargain that draws people from miles around.

Reflections on the Road

Our journey through the South was a mixed bag, a blend of heartwarming encounters and disheartening observations. While I cherished the time spent with family and the opportunity to reconnect with old friends, I couldn't help but feel a sense of loss for the graciousness and civility that seemed to be slipping away. Perhaps this is just a natural evolution of society, a consequence of our fast-paced, interconnected world. Or perhaps it's a reminder that we need to make a conscious effort to preserve the values of kindness, respect, and genuine human connection.

We got to see the big Indian Chief of the Tribe standing in line just like the rest of us. (I'm told that he likes to mix with his customers.) He wore a sport shirt and slacks. A war bonnet, buckskins, and a painted face would have been more in keeping with his scalping of men and women of all ages.

After lunch, Lamar had to return to Meridian. Monk and I wandered around the casino while Frances and Norma Jean had fun playing the 25¢ slots. When they hit jackpots, they squealed. (Frances began with $20 in quarters. She built that to $68.25 and ended up several hours later with $20.50.)

Leaving the reservation, we drove by the newly completed state prison near Meridian. The prison complex comprised several large, windowless buildings completely surrounded by two high (15 feet) chain-link fences about ten feet apart. Razor wire ran in tight coils along the top and bottom of each fence. Guard towers added to the sinister, concentration camp appearance.

This facility depressed me. I understand the need for security in our prisons. We're not housing choirboys. Yet, what will these people be like when released? I'm afraid they will be even worse than when they went in. Treating people like animals is never the answer to real change. We must find better solutions.

On June 10, we drove east to Birmingham, where we spent the night with Jolene and Curtis James at their beautiful home about 25 miles south of the city off I-65. Fran delighted in talking to Merle and Benji, Norman's son. He is staying at Jolene's for the summer while interning at a Birmingham law firm. Benji is an impressive young man. Tall and athletic, with his dad's good humor and personality, he will be quite a catch.

While there, we met Jodi's new friend, Kevin. I liked him very much. He is intelligent and serious, but relaxed and easy to talk to. Of course, Alex grows cuter and more loveable by the day.

On June 11 and 12, we stayed at the Ramada Inn in Bessemer, where the Ousley reunion was held.

On our return trip to Houston (June 13), we visited Thad Scott's Sporting Goods store in Indianola, Mississippi. Mr. Scott deals in vintage, side-by-side shotguns. Finding nothing of interest, we departed for Texas.

We spent the night at a Best Western in Fulton. We were near Terrell, Texas, the home of Chadick's Ltd., another well-known dealer in fine firearms.

Chadick's is located in a former bank building in the old, downtown section of Terrell. Entering through one of the heavy, front double doors opens a world of adventure. Beautiful but well-worn double rifles suggest the Africa of the great white hunter era (1870 through 1950). Rows of collector-grade shotguns (US shotguns to the left and European on the right wall) remind us that bird hunting was once popular.

The interior is dim and smells of old leather, varnish, and gun oil. Yet, the guns seem to glow from the natural light let in through several small windows placed high in the wall on one side. If they could only talk, what marvelous tales we might hear.

As I shouldered first one, then another—most were examples from makers I'd never seen except in pictures, much less held—I felt like a kid on the first day of summer vacation. Then, it was time to go home and resume armchair dreaming.