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The Preacher’s Corner
By Rev. Dr. Milton Winter Little incidents create lasting memories Shirley
Forester Ross often writes to share stories inspired by my columns. I
am delighted to hear from readers, especially when interesting memories
are stirred by these musings. In a recent letter, commenting on the
child I wrote about who was accidentally locked in our church after she
had tagged along to listen to her aunt practice the organ, Shirley
wrote of an incident when her father, George Forester, worked at the
Coca-Cola plant on South Center Street. She said,
“On our school lunch hour I would walk to the plant and to lunch with
Daddy. One day I went in one door and Daddy did not know that I was
there and went out the front door and locked it. Willie Foots, who was
one of the drivers, saw me at the door and showed me how to lift the
inside latch. I was friends with all the truck drivers and they taught
me how to tie my shoes at an early age. I will always remember that day
and Willie Foots, Shorty Driver, Jeff Hamner, with their kindness to me
as a child.” You’re right, Shirley. Little
incidents often create lasting memories for children. When I answered
Shirley’s letter, I promised I would write about my mother’s Coca-Cola
story. Again…a little incident that created a lasting memory. As
I was told the tale, my mother’s story occurred when she was a student
at Delta State College. In those long-ago days, few students had cars.
It was not that cars were forbidden, it was just that in the depths of
the Great Depression few adults, not to mention students, could have
afforded one. The campus was a full mile from downtown Cleveland, and
though I was fully used to riding my bike between our home near the
campus and downtown, I would have thought it a pretty fair walk in my
younger days. Still, the students walked back and forth because, as I
said, nobody had a car. In my mother’s case, one
boy had a car (I think it was Bill—William D. McCain—who went on to
become President of the University of Southern Mississippi), and he
invited some of the other students, including Mama, to ride downtown
for a Coke at “Denton’s.” Denton’s was across from the courthouse, and
colas then were a nickel. Giddy with excitement,
my mother committed a social blunder—or was it an act of
rebellion—given that this was the “flapper era” following on the
“Roaring Twenties?” She never said, but having heard the story many
times, I have my own ideas. Anyway, Mama drank her Coca-Cola right from
the bottle—which, believe it or not—was a great sin in those days!
Almost as bad as going without a hat or smoking in the street! Spies
are everywhere in small towns, and so Mama quickly found herself
summoned to appear before the dean—the dean, in this case, being her
father, my grandfather, Dr. William H. Zeigel! Punishment was meted
out, along with a firm admonition that students—all of them—must uphold
the proprieties of alma mater! So, with the honor of Delta State
vindicated, my mother was sufficiently chastened, and for the rest of
her life, she could not drink a Coca-Cola from one of those green
bottles without a flashback to the ethical expectations of an earlier
time. As I write this on Mother’s Day, I cannot
help reflecting that every generation seems to have its confrontation
with the elders. I guess Mama was lucky that hers was as innocent as it
was. But it is a good incentive to “mind your manners,” especially when
you are out in public!
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