The War In My Bones

A friend once remarked that the words mean what the words mean. In other words, he told me to quit overthinking what I read. But how ’bout reading between the lines? Or having details that the writer left out?

At first glance, this article about Pop reads like an impressive resume: High school graduation at age 14, WWII combat heroism, civic accomplishments, and, to quote the author, “one of the most forceful spokesmen for progress the community has ever known.”

The 1958 article begins, “South Plains College lost one of its strongest advocates recently through illness.” Illness? The malady that took Pop from his hometown of Levelland to my hometown of Lockhart was alcoholism.

The American Medical Association had barely classified alcoholism as a disease in 1956. Reckon that West Texas journalist was really referencing alcoholism? I suspect not.

The dichotomy of the alcoholic – a driven overachiever who finds himself swirling around in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

So, while the article is full of accolades, it fails to mention the ugly particulars about his move to Central Texas. Pop’s big sister, my Aunt Roxie, gave me this newspaper clipping and filled in some of the blanks. Now, I trust what Aunt Roxie told me implicitly. When you look up the best Baptists in Texas, her name is no doubt at the top. If she crocheted a doily and sold it for $10.00, I promise she tithed 10% to the First Lockhart Baptist Church.

After less than ten years back in West Texas, Pop drank himself out of two marriages, his insurance agency, and probably the good graces of many of the folks at the Levelland Country Club or that junior college committee. Aunt Roxie told me that Pop’s secretary called her, saying she was locking the doors and reluctantly closing up shop.

She warned Aunt Roxie that Pop wasn’t letting anyone into his house – except for his maid to bring him food and whiskey. If anyone else darkened his door, they got a cocked shotgun pointed at them.

Not afraid of her little brother or his guns, Aunt Roxie ended her story about Pop’s move, telling me that she borrowed a cattle trailer, headed to West Texas, collected Pop and his belongings, and “poured him into Lockhart.”