FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) – part 9
The world seems to roll together like the parts of an engine, each piece responding to the other as if it could read the others’ minds. It’s an amazing thing.
Merle Haggard’s “If we make it through December” came out in October of 1972, the cold, cold month of Mama’s surgery. It was cold that winter, and by December Georgia would experience one of the coldest months in memory, from the north up to Blue Ridge Mountains all the way down to the southern edges where our little hometown sat quietly amid tall pines and in earshot of the mighty Chattahoochee that flows majestically through the Southeast.
The 1970s was a time of the radio more than the TV. Every morning when Mama got up to go to work – before her surgery – she would be up before the sun, fix some buttered toast and hot chocolate, and listen to WTRP or WLAG for the news and weather report while I was getting dressed for school.
It was on WTRP where I would first hear the remarkable voice of Paul Harvey in the early mornings. His voice would go on to provide a backdrop to the eventful hot summer that loomed just ahead out on the bricklaying job with my soon-to-be newfound “friend” Doocy, he with the webbed hand and attitude problem, and with my big brother Tim’s best friend Brian Light.
The Lord smiled down on us that winter, too. Mama’s health was on the uprise when the brutal temperatures and ice of December fell upon the state. One early morning in December, as Mama got up early to see me off to school, we listened to WTRP to see what the weather held for that day and if school would be let out or not. Ah, I sure wished it would. We didn’t get snow all that often in west Georgia, so when it came you sure didn’t want to be sitting in shop class listening to Mr. Walsh tell stories that only served to remind us just how old the fella really was. He said he was older than dirt, and all the boys in class believed it.
We had several ice and snow days that December, but there was a special day a week or two before Christmas that I most remember. Some things are etched in your mind, never to be undone. You understand.
As I said, the Lord smiled down on us that Christmas and especially that particular icy and snowy December day. Mama got up before I as she always did and did her normal routine of getting my breakfast ready as soon as she was dressed. After I ambled into the kitchen with a weak “Good morning,” I poured me a hot cup of the world’s greatest hot chocolate she had waiting for me on the stove; and she and I looked out the living room window at the snow falling as peaceful as I can ever remember.
After a minute, Mama told me to put a jacket and gloves on, that she wanted to go outside on the porch. Usually, I might rebel against those little moments that Mama would cherish – not knowing better back then – but that morning I did not. I was glad to have Mama back home and doing well. I thought the hard part was over.
I grabbed my jacket, a toboggan that was the LaGrange-High shade of blue, and a pair of gloves, and I opened the door for Mama while I tugged on my gloves and she waited for me patiently, as she always did. As soon as we walked together to see the snow from the porch, a pretty strong east wind blew in our faces, but it was more refreshing than cold, at least at first.
Our house on Juniper Street where I lived almost all of my growing up years was on a hill. When we would walk out to the red-painted front porch and look out, we could see rows of houses cascading below. Juniper Street ran in front of our house, then there was a drop-off down to the Richardson’s house and, to the east, to our right standing on the porch and looking out – was the Whatley’s.
The steep decline didn’t stop with that row of houses below us. If you walked down the steep concrete steps between the Richardsons and the Whatleys, you would encounter another long set of steps going down at an even steeper decline. At the bottom of those steps was an empty lot the size of a football field, then another set of houses, those on Elm Street, where Coca-Cola Mike’s sister Shirley and her husband “Whup” would live when they got married a few years later.
Coach Steven Bowen, a long-time Red Oak teacher and coach, now enjoys his time as a writer and preacher of the gospel. And, after a ten-year hiatus, he’s also returned to work with students at Ferris High School as well.
In addition to his evangelistic travels, he works and writes for the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl Road and Ovilla. Their worship times are 10 a.m. Sundays and 7:30 pm. Wednesdays. Email coachbowen1984@gmail.com or call or text (972) 824-5197.