Chapter One
The Web's Center
In The Wake Of The Yankee Army
Other research studies have shown at least ninety percent of the known sexual and physical abusers of children were themselves abused as children. On those days I do think about my family of origin, I often wonder if the researchers simply took my mother’s family and used it as a guide.
The actual beginnings of the seemingly endless cycles of child abuse in my family can be traced at least one hundred years into its past. During the American Civil War, my great and great-great-grandfathers both joined the 14th Alabama infantry and served in the Confederate Army until they were captured after the Battle of the Wilderness in 1864. After their capture they spent the remainder of the war inside a Northern prison camp. When the war was over they came home to barren ground, burned homes and pure poverty. I have no idea if the meanness my mother, aunts and uncles spoke about in these two men were a result of their war experiences or if they were born that way.
During reconstruction my great-grandfather lost his first wife and remarried during the 1870s. In 1881 my grandmother was born into a family that would eventually have thirteen children. The family’s economic resources had improved greatly during that time and my great-grandfather had specific ideals as to what social class my grandmother’s future husband should belong to. Oddly enough, my grandmother’s idea wasn’t the same and on New Year’s Day, 1901 she climbed out her bedroom window to elope while her older brother kept my great-grandfather occupied in another part of the house.
Being disowned by her family didn’t seem to matter to my grandmother until her young husband died of influenza on a train outside of New Orleans in 1917. His death left a wife, five children and one on the way with no foreseeable way of making it on their own. His family had all died out so my grandmother had to suck up her pride and go live with her parents. The same parents that had supposedly beat her almost to death as a child for making accusations against her older brother. A brother that was still living in the house when my mother went back to live there.
My mother was the second oldest child of my grandmother’s first marriage and had many stories that dealt with her grandfather’s physical and verbal abuse towards the grandchildren. Verbal and emotional abuse seemed to be the norm in the household and while there is a great deal of speculation concerning many of my mother’s stories and statements, there is one story she told that stands out from all the others and which her brother corroborated as having actually occurred.
The mental state of the man my mother and uncle called “Granddaddy Dawson” can be quickly evaluated by their memories of a day in the apple orchard.
During the fifty odd years after the Civil War, my great-grandfather had built what mother called and I remember as a “huge” house. He had carriages and several horses, property both in and outside the town of Opelaka as well as live in servants. Some of these servants were ex-slaves who had stayed with the family after the war and worked in exchange for food and land. In other words, he was a man of means who could easily afford the food and clothing of his grandchildren.
One day my mother and her brother were out in the fields and became hungry. Knowing the reaction they would receive if they went to the kitchen and attempted to beg food, they decided to raid Granddaddy Dawson’s apple orchard instead. They felt fairly safe doing this since the women were busy in the house and Granddaddy Dawson had left for town earlier that day and not expected back for several more hours. What they didn’t know was that he had forgotten something and had to come back home and was able to see them climbing his trees from the house.
While the two children were busy picking and eating their apples, Granddaddy Dawson was able to sneak up and surprise them in the act. As he grabbed my uncle and started to beat him with his fists (mother was 8, my uncle 6), mother ran and climbed back up in the tree. My uncle supposedly broke away and climbed up beside her. After raining a great number of curses and threats upon them, the old man who was in his mid seventies, went back to the house, got an ax and came back to the tree the children were hiding in.
Most reasonable people would understand there wasn’t much an eight year-old and a six-year old could do as far as making it on their own. They would simply let it rest until the children became so hungry they came down to eat. My great-grandfather wasn’t a reasonable man though.
Cursing the entire time, he set about cutting down the giant apple tree with the two children in it. Never thinking of the safety of the children, he actually felled the tree and out they tumbled. Bruised and dazed from the fall, they stood there a moment, which gave Granddaddy Dawson a chance to catch his breath.
Once he had, he promptly went after both children with the ax. While to some this may sound like some sick comedy, both children would turn pale as adults every time they spoke of the incident.
There is an old saying, “God watches out for fools and small children” and he must have been watching out for them that day. Neither of them was struck by the ax although the old man supposedly gave it all he had. When both children scrambled away and hid in the culvert under the main driveway, meanwhile Granddaddy Dawson went back into the house and came out with his shotgun.
Getting down on his belly, the old man stuck the barrel of the gun into the culvert and made his intentions of “Blowing both the little bastards back to hell.” Neither child could believe their luck when the first barrel misfired and since they had no plans on sticking around for Granddaddy to try again, they started out the other side of the culvert.
Mother made it clear and my uncle was in the process of getting out when the second barrel roared, embedding several pieces of shot into my uncle’s leg. It was at this time they decided their chances were better if they split up. Mother went one way, Uncle went a different and the old man finally ran out of breath, came to his senses and went inside to wait for their return.
It was supposedly two days before the children got hungry enough to head back to the house. During that time the old man waited for them and not once did my grandmother come out looking for them or attempt to get them any food. Upon their return, Granddaddy Dawson beat my uncle until the boy was unconscious. He then turned to my mother, punched her in the face with his fist and then stood on her braids while he beat her with his cane.
Eighty years later my mother could still describe the cane and its gold handle. After the beating both children were left where they lay and they each tended the wounds of the other when they regained consciousness.
My Grandparent's "wedding" photo.