Saying Goodbye to Dad

After a misdiagnosis of pneumonia, when my dad couldn't breath well he went by ambulance to the Doctor's Memorial Hospital in Perry Florida. They found the real problem: lung cancer. He made it 9 days after the diagnosis before he passed away. I tried to get to him but as fate would intervene, I wasn't able to get there in time. I had to suffer through flight delays and cancellations until it caused me to get there several hours too late. My grief is deep felt, especially since I didn't get to say goodbye. He knew I was coming, but he was just too weak to hold on.

When I was doing family history research several years ago he told me a few tales of his childhood. He grew up during the Great Depression being born in 1929. For a few years his father was caretaker for for a plantation in Orange Park, Florida. Dad always referred to it as the Palmolive Plantation. However, as I recently discovered it was actually called Mira Rio, which translates to River Watch from Spanish. It was owned by Caleb Johnson who was the son of the founder of the Palmolive Soap Company, now known as Colgate Palmolive. Today, it is a resort called The Club Continental.

Here are some links on the history of the plantation and Orange Park, along with a tour of Club Continental.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orange_Park,_Florida

http://clubcontinental.com/2014/02/10/2165/ 

I wrote a story combining several of the stories he told me and called it: The Adventures of Ernest
I hope you enjoy it. **I changed the last name!

                                          The Adventures of Ernest

“Ernest Easterling!” the eight year old heard his mother say.  “Where are your shoes?”  She stood towering over him with her arms crossed, tapping her foot.

 “Out in the yard,” Ernest answered, barely audible.  He was looking down at his dirty bare feet, waiting for the speech he had heard a hundred times.

 She lifted his face.  “Ernest, we can’t afford to replace your shoes.  There is a depression on you know.  We’ve tried to explain to you what that means.”  She sighed.  “We have to get shoes for your older brother and your little sister too.  Now you go out there and get your shoes before that dog carries them off again.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Ernest said walking to the door.  A scruffy, dirty white dog ran by headed for the abandoned shoes.  “Oh no you don’t!” he shouted, running to tackle the dog, which landed on its side.  “You can’t have my shoes again.  Mama says dogs don’t wear shoes, so you don’t need mine.”

Ernest retrieved the shoes and took them to show his mother that the dog hadn’t chewed on them before he put them beside his bed.  “Can I go back outside now?”

She looked at him and tilted her head.  “It’s ‘may I’ and I suppose so,” she finally said.

Ernest skipped happily out the door to the old wheel-less truck that sat in one corner of the yard.  He climbed in behind the steering wheel and sat as straight as he could, though he still couldn’t see over the wheel.  He fumbled in his pocket for the key and stuck it in the ignition.  “Vroom,” he said.  He bounced up and down in the seat and twisted the wheel back and forth.

“Ernest?” his older brother Johnny said, walking up with his school books.  “Where are you going?”

“Jacksonville,” Ernest answered.  “Want to come?”  His eyes were wide with excitement.

“We live in Jacksonville, Ernest,” Johnny said, roughing his little brother’s bushy black hair.

 “Not right in town,” Ernest informed him.  “You comin’ or not?”

“No,” Johnny said.  “I’ve got homework.  I’d better stay home and do it. I already had to stay after school for not doing it.  Besides, you know I have to milk the cow soon.”

“Okay, I’ll just go by myself.”  He started bouncing and twisting the wheel again.

Johnny watched him for a while then spotted the key in the ignition.  “Neat key; where’d you get it?”

“Sardine can,” Ernest answered.

 

“Does Mama know you got that?”

 “Don’t worry; it’s not from a good can.  I it out of the trash.  How would she open the sardines if I took the key off of it?”

 “You only thought of that because you like sardines.  If you didn’t, there would be a safe can in the house.”

Ernest looked sheepishly at his brother and giggled.

“Don’t stay out here too long.  Daddy will be home soon and Mama will have dinner ready.”

“Do you think we’ll have sardines?” Ernest asked.

Johnny made a face.  “Not for dinner,” he answered.  “It’s bad enough for lunch,” he muttered as he walked away.

A few minutes later Ernest watched Johnny carry the milk pail into the barn.  He removed his key and scrambled out of the old truck.  He ran as fast as he could to the barn.

 

 “You’ve been to town and back already?” Johnny said, sitting on the milking stool.

“Yep,” Ernest answered.  “I figured I’d better get back before Daddy got home.  I’d miss dinner.  Can I help?”

“You can try to keep that calf off her so I can get the milk.”

 Ernest chased the calf around the barn while his brother filled the pail from the squirming mother cow.  “Whew,” he said.  “That’s hard work.

Johnny laughed at him.  “I’m done, you can let him ho.  I know his mama would be happier if you did.”

Ernest could see his father coming up the driveway.  “Daddy’s home!” he shouted running out the door.

“Hello, Ernest,” his father said.  “Did you have fun today?” he asked his son as they walked to the house.

 “I sure did.  I drove to Jacksonville this afternoon,” he said, his wide eyes shining.

 “Did you have trouble getting that old truck to go?”

 “It runs like a top,” he said proudly.

 “Good,” he said.  “Hi honey,” he told his wife.  He kissed her cheek.

 “John, I swear you come home smelling more like those cigars you make every day,” she said.  “Why don’t you clean up and change for dinner?”

 “I won’t smell like that much longer,” he said.

 “You got the job?” she asked excitedly.

“I got the job,” he answered calmly.  “Twenty dollars a week and we get to live on the estate in the gate house.”

“Are we moving, Daddy?” Ernest asked.

 “Yes son, we are moving to Orange Park.  We’re going to live on a big estate on the St. John’s River, so I’ll be able to take you fishing.”

 Ernest’s eyes lit up.  “Fishing!  Oh boy!  Will you still work at the cigar factory?”

 “No, I’ll be the estate’s care taker.  I make sure the other workers do their jobs.”

“Boy, Daddy,” Johnny cut in, “It sounds like you’ll be really busy.”

 “It is a big job.”

“Boys, let your father get ready for dinner.  You need to get cleaned up too,” their mother told them.  “Celia, come get ready for dinner,” she said to her little daughter.

Two weeks later the family packed up all their belongings and headed for the palatial estate in Orange Park.  The children were amazed at its magnificent splendor as their father walked them around the grounds to familiarize them with the place.  They wandered through numerous gardens of roses and azaleas, and a Japanese garden.  They were awed by the many fountains and flowers.

“Daddy!” Ernest shouted, pointing, “There’s fish in the swimming pool!”

 “That’s not a swimming pool, Ernest,” his father said.  “It’s a gold fish pond.”

 “Oh, I guess we can’t swim in it then.”

“You can’t even wade in it.  You stay away from the real swimming pool too.”

“Okay,” he said, hanging his head.  “Are we allowed to play in the

“I don’t think so.  You can play around the gate house and the barn and stables,” his father said.

 

“Let’s go Johnny, I want to see the horses,” Ernest said.

“Is it alright?” Johnny asked.

“I guess so; just don’t try to ride them.  The stable boy can tell you what you can and can’t do,” he replied.

When summer break from school finally arrived Ernest spent his days ‘helping the black men with their daily chore of raking and hauling away leaves, branches, and hedge clippings.  Ernest always managed to talk them into letting him go with them and steer the truck.

“Charlie can I watch you butcher the chickens today?” Ernest asked, sitting on an overturned bucket.

“I suppose Ernie.  I’m only doing two,” the old kitchen servant told answered.

Ernest watched fascinated. One got away and he chased it until he caught it.  He carried the squawking bird back to his friend.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Charlie told him.  “Do you want to help?”

 “No, I don’t think so.  Daddy said he’d take me fishing again this afternoon.  I think could go by myself if he’d let me, but I don’t think Mama wants to cook that much fish.”

“You could sell them to my wife.  I don’t have time to fish.”

“If daddy says I can, I will.  A penny a fish,” Ernest said, getting excitedly counting the pennies in his head.  He ran off to find his father, ready to fish.

“If you leave them in the water on a stringer, the fish will stay fresh longer,” his father told him, giving him a few tips.  “And watch for snakes.  They like fish too.”

Ernest sold his fish for weeks, now spending most of his time at the river.  One day he left his line in the water while he went home to eat.  Upon his return he saw that his cork had disappeared.  He picked up his pole and dragged the heavy line through the hyacinths which had floated in while he was gone to eat.

“Boy, this is whopper,” he said, struggling to pull in the line.  “You’re a fighter too.”

At last the end of the line came to the surface at the edge of the river.  A large fish had swallowed the hook, but a larger snake was working on swallowing the fish.  Ernest quickly dropped the line and ran behind a tree.

 

A few minutes later he peered out from behind the tree.  He tip-toed to his fishing pole and took out his pocket knife and cut the line, making sure he kept an eye on the location of the snake.

“You can have the fish, but the pole is mine,” he told the snake before he ran home.

 “What are you doing home so soon?” his mother asked.

“When I got back to the river there was the biggest snake I ever saw on my fishing line!  It ate my fish!” he said, waving his arms.

“Your father told you to watch for snakes.  They lay in the sun on that rock ledge all day long.”

“I’ll be careful.  I think I’ll wait ‘til tomorrow to go back.”

“That’s probably a good idea.  Why don’t you go play with your sister?” she said.

“Mama,” he said, offended at the suggestion.  “She’ll want me to play dolls with her.  I’d rather help old Charlie kill chickens or one of the other men clean the barn or something.

“You spend too much time at the servant’s quarters as it is.  You’re probably in the way,” his mother told him.  “Why don’t you see if you’re father wants some help?”

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s been in the office all day talking to those people he buys the azaleas from.  He’s planning on planting some more.”  After studying Ernest’s blank expression for a minute she relented.

“Okay Ernest, I see your point.  Go to the barns.  Just watch your step.  I don’t want you tracking the house with what ever is down there.”

“I can tell you what’s down there.”

“Ernest!” She said to his giggling, retreating figure, and then she sighed.

Ernest ran happily across the estate to the barn yard.  No one was around so he went into the barn.  He saw the stable boy heading to the stalls with a pitchfork.

“Hi Ernest,” the teenager said.

“Hi.  Can I help?” he asked.

 “You know where the tools are,” he said pointing.  “You do a pretty good job; I guess it won’t hurt anything.”

Ernest went to the tool shed and returned shortly with a pitchfork of his own.  “Where are all the horses?”

“The family has company today.  They all went riding.  I thought it would be a good time to clean the stalls.”

“Okay, I can do that,” Ernest said, trying to drag a pitch-forkful out of the stall.

“Why don’t you take smaller amounts, Ernest?  You’ll make it to the pile that way without losing so much.”

Ernest worked all afternoon on the one stall.  His face was streaked with sweat and dust and dirt, and his hands were nearly as dark as the boy who had cleaned the other stalls.

“Oh my,” his mother said when he got home.  “Take off those shoes and clothes on the porch.

“Mama, what if somebody sees me?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” she said.  She got a sheet and pinned him up while he removed his dirty clothes.

He ran through the house to the bathroom where his mother had started a tub of hot water.

“Now scrub,” she said, handing him a brush and a bar of soap.  “I will check, so do it right or I’ll have to scrub you myself.”

“I’ll do a good job,” he said, rubbing the soap on the scrub brush.

His mother shook her head and went back to the kitchen to finish making dinner.

Ernest scrubbed all over and washed his hair.  He passed inspection when his mother checked on him so he was allowed to get out of the tub and dress for dinner.

The next day Ernest dug a big can of worms, tied a new string to his fishing pole, and headed to the river.  He caught many fish and put them on the stringer as usual.

      The hyacinths floated in as they did every afternoon and Ernest started watching for water moccasins more closely.  As the afternoon progressed he discovered a moccasin trying to eat the fish on his stringer.  He smacked at the snake with the end of the pole.

      “Go away.  Those are mine!” he said.  Watching the snake swim away, he pulled in his line and reached for the stringer of fish.  Just as he put his hand in the water a different snake struck, biting his middle finger.  Ernest screamed and started running for home.  “Mama! Mama!” he cried.  “I’ve been bit!”

      “What?” she said.  “You’ve been bit?  By a snake?”

      “Yes, here on my finger,” he said, holding up his hand.  He had big tears rolling down his face.  Blood was on his hand, coming from the snake bite.

      “Oh my God!” she cried.  “Be still.  I can’t believe you ran home.”

      Old Charlie ran up the steps, across the porch to the front door.  “Misses Easterling, I could hear Ernest screaming all the way to the barn.  Is something wrong?”

      “He’s been bit by one of those snakes.  Go fetch his daddy for me, Charlie.  We need to get him to the hospital.”  She ripped a towel into strips and made a tourniquet for Ernest’s arm.  She placed it high above the elbow.

“Mama, my arm hurts more than the bite.  Can you take off this thing?” Ernest said, tugging at the tourniquet. 

“Stop that.  It has to stay tight so the poison doesn’t spread,” she told him.

 Ernest scowled, sniffing.

     

 “John, can you go any faster?” she urged.

 “I’m already going twenty.  Do you want to get us all killed?” he asked.

 “No, of course not, just hurry.”

 By the time they reached the hospital, poor Ernest’s was numb and turning colors.

“Mrs. Easterling, you are supposed to loosen the tourniquet now and then.  It’s to the circulation doesn’t completely stop,” the doctor told her, after treating the snake bite.

“But I was always told that was to stop the poison from spreading,” she said to him.

“Yes, that’s true,” he said.  “Not too many people know to loosen the tourniquet.  It’s not your fault.  I just hope there isn’t any damage to his arm from it.  He should be fine, but I want to keep an eye on it. You can take him home in the morning.”

 “How much damage was done from the poison?” his father asked.

“If the snake that bit him was poisonous, he would have been showing signs of getting ill before he got home. He did run all the way.

“Thank you Doctor,” John Easterling said, shaking the man’s hand.

“Mama, I think I’ll give up fishing for a while,” Ernest told her before drifting off to sleep.  “I think I’ll play cops and robbers for a while.”