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3doustort ©atlg Tjourttal
Dust and
memories
It wasn’t how I planned
to spend my day off, but
my son and my mother
didn’t exactly give me much
choice.
For years Momma has been
after me to clean out from
under my bed at her house.
This is where I stashed away
just as many childhood mem
ories as I could fit under the
queen sized frame.
My mother and I are on
totally opposite ends of the
spectrum when it comes to
saving keepsakes. At least
that’s what I call them -
keepsakes. She calls them
junk. Now you know who
is on which end of the spec
trum. ,
So where does my older
son figure in on this? Well,
we were at Momma’s enjoy
ing one last day of play with
my niece
and neph
ew before
they were
to go back
to school.
He and
his cousin
started
getting
curious
about all
of those
odd boxes
collecting
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The Front Porch
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dust under the bed. So what
did they do? Started pull
ing them out and opening
them.
My mother jumped at the
opportunity. “This would be
the perfect time to clean out
under there!” she said with
glee.
So I dove into the job,
armed with a trash bag and
the resolve that unless it
was absolutely something I
could not bear to part with,
it was going out.
What happened next was
sort of a walk down memory
lane, sort of a “this is your
life,” and sort of a mind
boggling jumping back and
forth in time.
The first box held my ear
liest childhood keepsakes.
The crocheted doll bassinet,
complete with miniature
baby dolls. A bag of rocks.
The tiny porcelain dolls and
other figurines.
The next box was from
my preteen years, and was
mainly filled with horse fig
urines, some old letters, a
Grizzly Adams poster and
two Dukes of Hazzard post
ers. My niece sat beside me
for a while and laid claim
to several items, especial
ly the horses, much to the
chagrin of my sister. “We
just cleaned out her room
and she brought more stuff
home!” she lamented. Can
I help it if my niece takes
after me?
I moved on to high school,
and found all of the cards
I received for graduation,
including a list of the gifts
I received. I glanced with
interest at who had thought
of me some 18 years ago, and
was amazed at how many of
those people are long gone
now.
By this time, my head was
swimming in memories. My
sons and their cousins came
in and out at random to
see what I was doing. Their
appearances would bring me
back to reality for just a
minute - away from school
girl crushes and daydreams
to the real world of being
a wife and mother. But I
couldn’t fully join them in
the present until my work
with the past was done.
I eventually made it
through every box and only
kept enough to fill one plas
tic container and two wood
en boxes my sister and I
once decorated in Vacation
Bible School.
I enjoyed my trip, but I
realized that while I love the
memories I have of child
hood, I would much rather
be enjoying the childhood of
my own children now.
My mother, on the other
hand, is hoping that I enjoyed
my trip enough to tackle my
old desk and closet.
I only hope my son doesn’t
get any bright ideas to look
in them any time soon.
SATURDAY,
AUGUST 5, 2006
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By BILLY POWELL
Special to the Journal
During the decades of the
19205, ‘3os, ‘4os and ‘sos,
the Perry High Panthers
were never without a star
basketball player represent
ing the Gray family. During
the 19205, it was Wordna,
Glea, ahd Hilt Gray.
Leading the Gray fam
ily intd the 1930 s was the
fourth son, Bowie Gray.
The first four broth
ers played for Coach Jim
Gooden and led Perry High
School to a nafttber of dis
trict championships.
Upholding the family tra
dition during the 1940 s was
Walter Jr., an all-state play
er, whose 1943 PHS team,
under kail of Fame Coach
Eric Staples, captured sec
ond place in the state tour
nament.
During the late 1940 s
and early 19505, also under
two sons of Glea.
Gray stopped forward: Billy,
an all-state player, helped
lead Perry High to the state
championship in 1949; and
David, another all-state
caliber player, was a star
perfornier on Perry’s 1953
state championship team.
A basketball player on
the distaff side of the Gray
family Who achieved equal
status on, the hardwood
with het redoubtable broth
ers waO Annie Ruth Gray
Boler.
She Was trained on the
finer points of the game by
brothers Wordna, Glea, Hilt
and Bowie on a basketball
Aunt Belle makes up her mind
Years ago, when my
friend’s Aunt Belie
qiiit her husband,
the neWs spread through
their small Alabama town
like kudzu growing on a hot
summer day.
“Why who ever heard of
any such?” gossiped the
ladies in Belle’s every other
Wednesday study club. “She
just up and quit a perfect
ly good husband. Got into
her braiid new Cadillac and
drove a\Vay without a fare
thee-well.”
Belle \Vas quick to tell any
of the curious masses who
didn’t hesitate to inquire
that she had not suffered
one dew drop at the hands of
a cheating, drinking or wife
beating husband. “Good as
gold,” she said and contin
ued to sdy until the day that
life left her body. She had
deserted him for what the
town’s Authorities in such
matters deemed the most
inexcusable excuse of all.
Belle had up and quit her
Lifestyle
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submitted
Annie Ruth Gray Boler, left, and her daughter Nancy
Sherrod
goal nailed to the side of a
barn.
She grew up a tomboy
and had to scrap like a boy
to hold her own in backyard
games.
Annie Ruth was the first
of four daughters and the
10-year childless marriage
because she simply did not
love him.
“Anna Belle Katherine,
how could you?” gasped her
sister, Claire. “You’re Mrs.
:9k ’ mr
HE? ■
Ronda Rich
Columnist
in two counties! You could
never do better. Never!
What could be more impor
tant than that?”
“Myself,” Belle replied
firmly, picking up her purse
and white gloves then tak
ing immediate leave of her
sister’s company.
A few years ago, before
Belle passed from this
world, she had smoothed
fifth of nine children born
to William Walter Gray, Sr.
and Harriet Roberts Gray,
who in their later years
resided on Swift Street.
The other three daugh
ters were Hilda, Lessie and
Hazel, all cheerleaders for
the lace-trimmed sheets of
her sick bed with withered,
age-spotted hands, straight
ened the collar on her pale
blue satin peignoir set and
told her niece the story.
“One morning, I was pre
paring Robert’s breakfast
- two eggs slightly over easy
and very crisp bacon - when
it suddenly occurred to me:
I didn’t love him. Not one
iota. Not for all the beauti
ful clothes, big houses and
fine cars he could buy me.
Two days later, I packed
up lock, stock and barrel
and left. -Never looked back
either.”
My friend leaned in closer,
resting her elbows on the
edge of the bed. “Was it a
hard decision?” she asked,
her tone one of desperate
searching.
Belle shook her silvered
but still elegant head. “I
decided that I didn’t want
to live for the love of a man
I didn’t love. I wanted to
live for the love of life.”
Robert
Edwards
IV, scion
of the
town’s
most
promi
nent and
prosper
ous fam
ily. They
own
banks
—
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Perry High School.
Annie Ruth played four
years at old Perry High
School in the old gym erect
ed in 1926 that burned to
the ground in 1969.
She was the star player
and leading scorer on the
Perry High girls’ team from
1928 through 1931.
During that era Jim
Gooden doubled as superin
tendent of Perry schools and
coached boys’ basketball.
Gooden, being ultra modest,
was never too comfortable
with girls’ basketball com
mented Annie Ruth.
“He was afraid we would
show too much with our
playing uniforms of knee
length bloomers and blous
es. t
Consequently, Gooden des
ignated a teacher to coach
the girls. Annie Ruth’s first
coach was Lucille Beckham
Pritchett, a teacher fresh
out of college.
Annie Ruth’s team
mates were such players as
Katherine Lawson, Martha
Ruth Tharpe, Milledge
Anderson, and Ramey
Bond.
The team wore the
maroon and gold colors and
played surrounding towns
such as Hawkinsville, Fort
Valley, Byron, Montezuma,
Cochran, Eastman and
Gordon.
In those days, three
guards played on one end
of the court, never cross
ing the center line, and the
three forwards on the other.
Annie Ruth, a forward,
And that she did. With
great zeal. Over the next
few decades, Belle’s fam
ily regularly received letters
and cards posted from exot
ic places like Rome, Paris
and Tangiers. She found
romance but shunned com
mitment on a cruise along
the Amalfi coast, on an
African safari and once dur
ing a three-day weekend in
Sausalito, California.
Belle proved to be a
woman of independence and
spirited determination long
before the invention of The
Pill or the creation of the
Equal Rights Amendment.
While her town contempo
raries had been shocked that
Belle didn’t want to be Mrs.
Anybody, especially Mrs.
Somebody, Belle was quite
happy to give her love and
devotion to nobody but her
self. The week after Belle’s
casket was covered with six
feet of her native Alabama
soil, my friend took her
aunt’s lessons to heart. One
SECTION
c
was virtually unstoppable
around the basket.
After local games, the
team often spent the night
at Beckham’s father’s home,
which once was part of the
original Perry school com
plex on Main Street.
When the new school was
built in 1925, it was later
moved to Beckham Circle
(Ed Beckham’s present
home),
The two story house and
former school sits direct
ly across the street from
the family homes of Sam
Nunn and Allen Pritchett,
Lucille’s son.
When Perry played out of
town, the team was feted by
Nick Cabero at his down
town case on Carroll Street.
When the team arrived
back in town, Cabero, an
ardent supporter of Perry
basketball, served the girl
players delicious pies, cakes,
cold drinks, and coffee.
Annie Ruth vividly recalls
playing in the district tour
nament in Hawkinsville.
Her Perry team won third
place that season, but the
most cherished honor, said
Annie Ruth, was the Perry
girls team “being voted the
best looking team in the
tournament.”
Close school friends of
Annie Ruth are Virginia
(Ginny) Mason-PHS
class of 1934 and Ginny’s
younger sister, Hilda
Walker-PHS class of 1936.
Both Ginny and Hilda
were cheerleaders.
See HOOPS, page 4C
morning, her husband came
downstairs for breakfast to
find a note leaning against
a silver cream pitcher that
his mother had given them
on the occasion of their last
anniversary.
“I’m not leaving you for
anything you did wrong,”
she had written in that
beautiful, cursive script
of hers. “I’m leaving you
because I find I must make
a choice in love and I have
decided to choose my love of
life over a loveless marriage.
Your eggs and bacon are in
the warming oven.”
And with that, she had
gotten into her brand new
SUV and driven away. This
time, no one in town even
flickered an eyelash.
Funny what a difference
fifty years can make.
Ronda Rich is the best
selling author of What
Southern Women Know
(That Every Woman Should)
and The Town That Came
A-Courtin ’.