Lesson 253: When Momma Cried
Army of Tennessee Chaplain David Chaltas
When Momma Cried It
was always the same. No matter how hard my Momma tried to create an atmosphere
full of cheer and good tidings, sometime through the festivities she would
break down and cry. It was mostly at night, when she thought I was asleep
but her muffled sobs always came through and I wondered. Why was my Momma
crying? Had I done something wrong? I wanted to know but was afraid
to ask because she tried so hard to make me happy. It
was always just before Christmas. We lived in a wonderful little town
known as Red Oak and I attended a 2 room school filled with 7 boys. Three
of the students were Cornett’s, three were Caudill’s and one, my best friend,
was Danny Johns. The teacher, Ms Marie Smith, always went out of the way
to give us a treat and one year she gave each of us a hen. Oh how I loved
that little chicken. I named it Nellie. Momma was not too pleased
but she tolerated it. Our dog, Frosty didn’t though and I recall having
to scold him for chasing her. We began right after Thanksgiving getting
into the Christmas Spirit. Momma would always join in but on occasion I
would see tears and hear her talking to Ms Smith in private. I always
wondered. My
realization came when I was living with my uncles after we moved from Red Oak
to Jeremiah, Kentucky. It was a Christmas when I was around eleven years
old. My Uncle Charlie had been drinking and started talking about a time
a long time ago. Now my uncle was a fine man who used to give me a
dime every time he had one for extra milk or soda. I recall his hands
shaking when he handed me the money and later I realized it was due to his
drinking problem. He had been in World War II and had seen things he
never talked about. I once got into his medals (Purple Heart, etc) and
when he caught me, he softly scolded me. That war weighed heavily
on his mind but I think what bothered him most was Christmas of 1931. This
is what I have committed to memory regarding what my dear uncle told me on that
evening. Charlie was the oldest of fourteen children belonging to my
grandfather, James Blair and grandmother, Anna Back Blair. Because of the
large family, Charlie and his brothers, Es and Les, had to go work as
well. Charlie was working with his father in a mine up Carbine
Glow. I vaguely recall the mine being called something like Tea Pot and
the portal being number 3. I remember the date was December 23,
1931. Uncle
Charlie and his father were working side by side. My grandfather had been
a miner all his life and knew the signs of danger. My uncle did
not. As young men do, he was working feverishly to impress his boss but
more importantly, his father. He got so caught up in his work that he
didn’t notice how close he was to a support timber. He said he didn’t
hear the rumble, the groan of the timber or the strain of snapping wood but his
father did. Without thought of his own personal safety, Grandfather
James darted forward pushing Uncle Charlie out of harm’s way. One of the
timbers hit James and the rock slide ended his suffering. As
was the tradition of the time, my grandfather’s body was not brought out until
the shift was over. His body was placed to the side of the mine and the
men continued working. Though my uncle was devastated he fully
comprehended that he was now the head of the household and had to continue
working to support his mother and siblings. He said he never cried so
hard in his life yet continued his vigil of working close to his father’s
body. Jerry Smith was one of the men who brought Grandfather’s body out
of that portal. My uncles all walked home to the head of Perkins Branch
and gave the news to Grandmother Annie. I can’t imagine the pain on that
day. It was Christmas Eve. After
Uncle Charlie told me of the heroism of his father, I fully understood why my
mother cried and why she never shared that heart wrenching story with me.
She was giving me the greatest gift of all; that of safety and a feeling of
being protected. In
John 15: 13, the Bible says, “Greater love hath no
man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” My
grandfather was a hero. He gave his life for his son. My uncle was
a hero. He offered his life for the sake of his country. My mother
was a heroine. She shielded me for harm on so many occasions and
ultimately gave her life so I would not suffer at the hands of a madman. There are so many unsung heroes and heroines. In Co.
Aytch, Sam Watkins tells of his best friend, William
Hughes. It
was on June 27, 1864, one day after Private Watkins’ birthday; the hand-to-hand
fighting was to a grievous point. Pvt. Watkins had just discharged his
weapon point blank into a Yankee and due to another soldier being directly
behind him, the bullet killed him also. He was attempting to reload when
yet another soldier in blue came upon him and started to shoot him. But
just as the weapon discharged, Pvt. Watkins' friend, Pvt. William A. Hughes,
grabbed the muzzle of the gun, taking the bullet meant for Watkins. The
bullet penetrated fully into the arm and hand of Pvt. Hughes, resulting in the
loss of his life, given freely and without regard for his own sake, for his
beloved friend. Prior to his death, Pvt. Hughes requested that Pvt.
Watkins receive his blanket and his beloved gun, “Florence Fleming”. Sam
carried it until his surrender at Greensboro, North
Carolina. I connected with this story, as that date fell upon the day I was
born. I composed the following poem in hopes of catching the affection
and high esteem they held for one other. It pays homage to a man willing
to lay down his life for a friend and that friend’s undying devotion to his
memory. I called it, The Search for Florence Fleming (Poetry of the
Civil War: Poems for a By-Gone Era). Ole
Billy A. Hughes was my friend He stuck
beside me to the end. We both
were clerks for J. M. Mayes Fore the
start of the glory days. In the trench,
fighting side by side: Saw many
a good soldier die. During
the Hundred Day battle, Billy
heard his last boots and saddles. On June
twenty-seven, Sixty-four; His love
for me was shown once more. He took
the bullet and the knife; In
saving me, he lost his life. Just
before his life was dimming, He gave
me his, “Florence Fleming.” Asked me
to keep her, to remind her how Much
better off he is right now. Held her
close til the surrender; Promised
I’d always remember. Someday
I’ll find her; bring her home So
Billy’s spirit won’t be alone. I looked
for her after the war. Went to
places; from door to door. My
search for her will go undone; For
“Florence Fleming”: Billy’s gun. Dear
Friends, even as great a sacrifice as seen in these two stories, they pale in
comparison to the love of God and His sacrifice for mankind. I cannot
imagine giving up my son to die for someone else. How could God love me
so much that he would offer His only begotten Son to die in my place? How
could Christ offer Himself as a living sacrifice, knowing what He must endure
for the sake of love, life and eternal salvation? John 3: 16 states
unconditional love: “For God so loved the
world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him
should not perish, but have everlasting life.”He gave His all for me, for you,
for us. Can we not give our best to Him, call upon His name, asking for
forgiveness of our sins and believing in Him. Finally follow the
commandment of the Son of Man in John 15:12, “My
command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.” If eternity calls
you this very moment, will you be ready? The choice is clear.
Imagine to be reunited once again with your loved ones, all of the mysteries of
life solved and to listen/see the Great Immortal face to face. Or to find
yourself totally separated from the love of God, loved ones and feeling the
flames of damnation throughout infinity. I choose door number one!
Grateful to those who sacrificed for love, I remain your humbled servant, the
old general