Macon, Georgia's claim to fame was that it was home to rock-n-roller Little Richard and was the site of some Cherokee burial mounds and a Cherokee museum. It was also, by the Fall of 1956, home to a Church of God that split in two, with the aggrieved faction building a new church of their own. They remained in the same denomination but no longer had to worship in the same building with the church members they were mad at. They built a little brick church and named it Lindale Estates Church of God and rented a big old drafty house for a parsonage and voted for my dad Gene Reynolds to be their pastor.
I was the only one of the Reynolds' children already in school, six weeks into the second grade when we moved to Macon.
I was the only one of the Reynolds' children already in school, six weeks into the second grade when we moved to Macon.
The space heaters in the rented parsonage didn't provide much warmth, so Mother was zipping us four kids into flannel pajamas with footies. Brother Raleigh Jenkins, an evangelist, was supposed to arrive at any minute, but she didn't mention that to us.
"I don't like this kind of pajamas," I wailed.
"You'll like them when it gets cold tonight," said Mother.
"I'm burning up. I'm suffocating. I can't breathe," I said.
Mother bent my rabbit ears down to her lips and said, "How do you like my mustache?"
Ricky said, "Do mine, do mine!"
He bent his head so she could reach the ears and she slapped them against her face while singing a snippet of of Peter Cottontail.
I turned and showed my fluffy bunny tail. "You can't spank me in this costume."
Mother pretended to spank me. Ricky said, "Spank me, too." We both said it didn't hurt and she pretended disappointment. She helped us say our prayers, tucked us in and turned off the light.
I heard the heater in the hallway hissing and that's the last thing I remembered until a thunderclap shook the house. If this was the end of the world, and it sounded like it was, I knew there was only one place where I would be perfectly safe: next to my daddy.
It would take more than the end of the world to wake Ricky. He slumbered on as I eased out of bed and padded in my rabbit footies to Daddy and Mother's bedroom. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled as I gently lifted the covers and slipped into my parents' bed. Daddy's back was turned. At least I thought it was Daddy's back and I snuggled up against it. It didn't matter now if a storm was roaring or the earth was exploding, now I felt safe and warm because I was next to Daddy and nothing could hurt me there.
Unbeknownst to me, the evangelist had arrived earlier in the night, Daddy and Mother had given him their bed and they had taken the girls' bed and put Ronda and Renda on a pallet. So the man I snuggled up to was not my daddy.
Young preacher Jenkins, when he realized the bed was soaking wet, thought at first the roof had leaked. Then he felt someone snuggled against him, turned over and saw the rabbit and sat bolt upright. His movement woke me, I looked up to see a strange man where Daddy should have been and screamed bloody murder. Accosted under the covers by a wet rabbit, brother Raleigh loudly called his savior's name.
Mother and Daddy came running in, followed by the girls. Mother, mortified when she realized that I had peed on the evangelist, said, “He comes to our bedroom when he gets scared at night. He must have thought you were Gene …”
"First time I ever been peed on by a large rabbit in the middle of the night!" said Brother Raleigh.
Daddy thought it was funny. "He must have drunk too much Kool-Aid!"
Preachers are performers--they love getting laughs--and I was terrified that Brother Raleigh might somehow mention the bedroom incident in his sermons that week to break the ice or illustrate a point. Daddy--without realizing that it was humiliating for a little child to be singled out and used as a punchline--did such things often. I was relieved when the revival ended with no reference having been made to my bladder or the fact that I wore rabbit footie pajamas.
Ricky and I wanted BB guns for Christmas. Mother said, "No. You'll put your eyes out." But Daddy overruled her. He had bought two BB guns and hidden them in the chifferobe shortly before Brother Raleigh arrived for the revival. I had found the long narrow boxes, already wrapped for Christmas, but didn't let on. I was willing to wait and be surprised.
An evangelist living in the house all week can’t be ignored by his hosts, so Brother Raleigh made the rounds with Daddy each day. They visited people in the hospital, knocked on doors, paid bills, bought groceries and had all their meals together.
"First time I ever been peed on by a large rabbit in the middle of the night!" said Brother Raleigh.
Daddy thought it was funny. "He must have drunk too much Kool-Aid!"
Preachers are performers--they love getting laughs--and I was terrified that Brother Raleigh might somehow mention the bedroom incident in his sermons that week to break the ice or illustrate a point. Daddy--without realizing that it was humiliating for a little child to be singled out and used as a punchline--did such things often. I was relieved when the revival ended with no reference having been made to my bladder or the fact that I wore rabbit footie pajamas.
Ricky and I wanted BB guns for Christmas. Mother said, "No. You'll put your eyes out." But Daddy overruled her. He had bought two BB guns and hidden them in the chifferobe shortly before Brother Raleigh arrived for the revival. I had found the long narrow boxes, already wrapped for Christmas, but didn't let on. I was willing to wait and be surprised.
An evangelist living in the house all week can’t be ignored by his hosts, so Brother Raleigh made the rounds with Daddy each day. They visited people in the hospital, knocked on doors, paid bills, bought groceries and had all their meals together.
Daddy was a nonstop talker. If a novel is 40,000 words, Daddy spoke more than a novel a day. From one subject to the next, the words just kept flowing. People not only endured it, but encouraged it, because he was a good talker, with lots of great stories. As an inveterate reader with an exceptional memory, he talked in depth about things that other people might not know. The problem was, once he started talking he didn’t hold anything back. He even told Brother Raleigh about the BB guns in the chifferobe and about Mother being against it because the boys might put someone's eye out.
Brother Raleigh offered to buy the guns to give to some boys in his family. Mother thought that was a great idea and Daddy finally relented.
Brother Raleigh offered to buy the guns to give to some boys in his family. Mother thought that was a great idea and Daddy finally relented.
The next time I opened the chifferobe door to reassure myself that I would soon have a BB gun, the boxes were missing. I went into the living room and examined all the presents under the Christmas tree, but none of them was shaped like a BB gun. I looked under the beds, behind the couch, between the stove and refrigerator.
“What are you looking for?” asked Mother.
“I know y’all bought me a BB gun. But it’s not in the chifferobe anymore.”
“Now, Randy, you know I didn’t want you to have a BB gun this year. You could have put your eye out.”
“But you already got it. It was in the chifferobe and now it’s gone!”
“Well, your Daddy and I just thought you ought to wait a year so he mentioned it to Brother Raleigh and he offered to buy them for some boys who are a little older. But don't worry, we're going to give you something better."
"A horse?"
"How would you like to have an electric train?"
"Like Uncle Strick's?" (The whole upstairs of Strick's house in the New Holland mill village was covered with train tracks on plywood saw-horses and he ran several trains on it at once--making up for a childhood he never had.)
"Well, not as big as Strick's, but it's a real train, with a depot and some stores and houses and farm animals."
The BB guns began to recede in importance. An electric train would be wonderful!
Daddy came home on Christmas Eve with a heart-rending story of a nearby family that was just barely "keeping their nose above water."
"They don't have anything for their children for Christmas," said Daddy.
He talked about how sad those children were going to be with no presents under their tree. He quoted some scripture that said how much more blessed it is to give than to receive. He told Ricky and me that we had many presents other than the train and if we wanted to give the train to the poor kids that had nothing, God would bless us for it.
"Giving it away will make you feel better than having it for yourselves."
Ricky and I flatly disagreed.
Daddy, a big kid himself, unwrapped the box and helped us connect the tracks. We set up the buildings and bridges and animals and plugged in the control box and ran the train around and around the tracks. We were thrilled, even though Daddy kept mentioning the poor kids who had nothing.
We ran the train for about an hour. Then Daddy and Mother put it back in its box and re-wrapped it. Mother put a bow on it and wrote the poor kids' names on the card.
"We'll get you another train someday," said Daddy, going out the door with the box under his arm.
But he never got around to it.
_____________________________
Many years later, when I managed a radio station in Gainesville, a middle-aged deejay down on his luck applied for a job. His name was Raleigh Jenkins and his resume’ revealed that he used to be a preacher. He remembered Macon and the BB guns and the bunny rabbit peeing on him the night of the thunderstorm. We had a good laugh,
but I didn't hire him.
"A horse?"
"How would you like to have an electric train?"
"Like Uncle Strick's?" (The whole upstairs of Strick's house in the New Holland mill village was covered with train tracks on plywood saw-horses and he ran several trains on it at once--making up for a childhood he never had.)
"Well, not as big as Strick's, but it's a real train, with a depot and some stores and houses and farm animals."
The BB guns began to recede in importance. An electric train would be wonderful!
Daddy came home on Christmas Eve with a heart-rending story of a nearby family that was just barely "keeping their nose above water."
"They don't have anything for their children for Christmas," said Daddy.
"Giving it away will make you feel better than having it for yourselves."
Ricky and I flatly disagreed.
Daddy, a big kid himself, unwrapped the box and helped us connect the tracks. We set up the buildings and bridges and animals and plugged in the control box and ran the train around and around the tracks. We were thrilled, even though Daddy kept mentioning the poor kids who had nothing.
We ran the train for about an hour. Then Daddy and Mother put it back in its box and re-wrapped it. Mother put a bow on it and wrote the poor kids' names on the card.
"We'll get you another train someday," said Daddy, going out the door with the box under his arm.
But he never got around to it.
_____________________________
Many years later, when I managed a radio station in Gainesville, a middle-aged deejay down on his luck applied for a job. His name was Raleigh Jenkins and his resume’ revealed that he used to be a preacher. He remembered Macon and the BB guns and the bunny rabbit peeing on him the night of the thunderstorm. We had a good laugh,
but I didn't hire him.
