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THERE
Red Top Prison to Mt. Nebo
By Janice Russell
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Janice Russell
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-2454-3
Chapter One
Remembering
I use to look outside the black panes of my prison cellblock, which was called the North Wing. The moon would be bright and the night was full of activity. From the cell where I would write, I could see the bus stop where my mother would be standing. As I would watch her standing there, my heart would be filled with an emotion that only a person who has lived the kind of life that I had lived, would possibly understand. As I would see her, I would be reminded of my childhood, bit by bit. If I should deliberately recall only happiness, it would be an injustice to the tragedies in my life. There is an intoxicating, guilty feeling that surges in my heart as I remember the home I had and one I might have had, the dream that led me through my childhood and changed into tragedy as I entered my youth. I never forgot what I was, or what I had wanted to be one day. Nope, some things will not leave the soul.
Some of the days of my past have been very, very gray, some blue, and some deep, deep black. But from them I did learn something of the 'upside downwardness' of the world and men. I did relearn what my parents taught me when I was small. I learned to believe what the Christians have professed to believe, that humility is the requirement of GOD.
I acted in my youth in a manner that is not in keeping with what I know now to be the right way of life. But lost years placed in my heart wisdom and understanding that is gained, and lessons that were learned. I began to realize then and now that a mother cares for her child more then anything in the world. I learned a mother would sacrifice everything, her honor, her career, and also sometimes her very life, for her child.
Even today I would give the rest of my life if I could to undo the ruin I brought upon my mother and others through my rebellion.
As I write this story, which is not a pretty one, I pray that other young men will read it, and be benefited by doing so. To all young people who are careless and unconcerned about their life – Don't do it! You can't cheat life and get away with it. It just does not work that way.
While I am writing this story, its not for sympathy, I may have deserved what I had coming to me, who knows. I now know that it was a destined path for me "Before the foundations of the earth by God, so be it." I am moving a little ahead of myself, so let me start from the beginning.
Chapter Two
First Jail Experience
A few miles from Pulaski, Dob County, Tennessee, there is a deep inlet that winds several miles into the country. On the south side of the inlet Shove Creek runs out of Tennessee into Alabama, where it empties into the Tennessee River. On the opposite side, the land rises abruptly, from Tacks Branch into a high ridge on which grows magnificent white and red oak trees. This ridge is named after the trees. That's why it was called Oak Grove. There in Oak Grove, February 10, 1920, on an explantation known as "The Brown's Place", I was born. I was two years of age when my parents got divorced and my mother took me to live in Alton, Illinois.
My earliest remembrance was when I was five years of age.
Even at this early age I was labeled by my common-law stepfather Mr. Perry as a hopeless liar. I would not tell the truth in dread of pain. I had learned to lie, whatever it took to make my life easier.
Mr. Perry's regards for discipline supplemented the teachings of my mother. I would look for love from my mother, at that time I thought she was rejecting me. When growing older, I sought a little sympathy but I felt she was not giving me anything. Mr. Perry believed in control and making you fear him. He didn't seem to like children at all; no love or understanding was ever shown. Mama would warn me not to make any noise home when he was in the house.
Many times I was whipped for crying because I was left at home alone at night. My parents couldn't, or wouldn't, understand that I was afraid of the dark and of the noise the rats would make at night. I tried to explain to them but they just wouldn't listen. They threatened me, I remember, even at this early age of 5, to have me sent to the Reformatory, and then they would whip me for disturbing the neighbors with all my hollering.
Now Mr. Perry was a Saturday night alcoholic. Alcohol transformed him from a Dr. Jekel into a frightening Mr. Hyde personality; he would become more of a monster than before.
He would burst into the house at all hours, fighting my mother and begin threatening me.
When I was small I would be terrified when I would hear my parents quarreling. As I grew older the Saturday night brawls became a part of my life, I learned to drown them out and ignore them and just accepted them.
It was a gray Saturday in December; the weather had changed over night, when a backing wind brought a granite sky of sizzling rain, Although it was a little after four in the evening the paleness of the winter seemed to have closed in upon the hills, and it would be dark by five. The air was clammy and for all the tightly closed windows it penetrated the room I was in. I would sit looking out the window to all the activity on the street, when suddenly I heard a rumble from the interior of my parent's room I knew they were having one of their regular brawls. At this time the disturbance caused a neighbor to call the police. That night along with parents was my first jail experience; I had to spend the night in jail.
Later that Monday afternoon my mother and I boarded a train to Nashville, Tennessee. The county paid our fare. My mother told the Court that she wished to leave Alton, Illinois and return to her home. Of course Mr. Perry refused to give her the fare, she did not have any money. The court was kind enough to pay for our ticket Mr. Perry was sent to a County Workhouse. That was the last I ever seen of Mr. Perry.
Chapter Three
Unloved & Unwanted
When we arrived in Nashville mama rented us an apartment on Eighth Avenue off of Gray Street. The apartment didn't have a playground, and everyday while mama was at work I played on the sidewalk; and I always wandered into a poolroom, which was right on the block. As well as in the apartment where we lived, I saw and heard things which was not fitting for a young boy my age to be seeing.
That summer mama left the city with a man whom she had met at the apartment. While she was away I stayed with my grandmother, mama's mother. I was six years old when mama and Mr. Mitchell got together. When they returned I was immediately taught to call him Daddy Mitchell.
They took me to live with them and by that time I had become accustomed to living with my grandparents and I did not want to leave their home. Then too, I had enough of stepfathers!
The first night at the apartment, which they had rented, I cried and carried on something terrible. So finally mama whipped me and put me to bed. Mama stood over me watching me and daring me to make a sound. I kept still until she went out of the room. As soon as she was gone I would sneak out of the bed and go into the closet. I was standing there putting on my clothes; I had decided that under no circumstances was I going to stay there any longer. The door to my parent's room was cracked enough for me to see, them, Daddy Mitchell was just getting out of a chair. I saw mama go to him and he reached out to put his arms around her, but she held him off with her hands.
I heard my mama say "Oh Mitch", sound like she was crying, "I didn't expect Johnny to take it so hard. It just doesn't seem natural for a child to get so upset, and take our living together so hard. I hope he will not make himself sick, crying and carrying on like he did tonight. Daddy Mitchell said, "He will get over it, he's just spoiled." "The more you gave him will do him better than anything."
When watching them I saw mama standing and gazing troublsum at Daddy Mitchell, I wondered what mama saw in him, because mama was a beautiful woman. Mama was had skin that was a rich smooth brown, her eyes were large, long lashed, and shiny black. When mama smiled, dimples twinkled on each side of her full-lipped mouth. Even just looking at Daddy Mitchell, I didn't like him. He was not taller than mama, heavy set, with a light marring complexion and nappy reddish hair with a high-pitched voice.
Daddy Mitchell asked mama "What's the matter, Ola? Are you sorry you agree to live with me? I didn't hear mama answer, I had by that time slipped out the window. That night was the beginning of my running away from home. I'd always go to my grandmother's house and stay sometimes days at time before mama would come and take me home.
That next morning mama and Daddy Mitchell were standing on the steps with my Uncle William, they took me home. Mama rushed down the steps, grabbed me by the arm and shook me saying "I'll teach you to run away from home, but I broke away from her ran into the house and into my room with her right behind me so close that I couldn't close the door.
My mother then said almost crying "Johnny why in the world are you acting this way?" I then turned my back to her, she just couldn't seem to understand the hurt I was feeling about this whole ordeal. Daddy Mitchell then came into the room and grabbed me and said, "You have been running over your mother and this is enough, you are not going to do this any more." Now answer your mother "boy". Daddy Mitchell drew back his hands as though he was getting ready to hit me and I then heard a strong male voice say "Take your hands off the boy" It was my Uncle William.
Daddy Mitchell said, "I am not going to hurt him" Daddy Mitchell said roughly, but quickly let me go. He said in a somewhat trembling voice " I was just going to let him know who's the boss in this house."
Mama stepped in then and said "Just leave him to me, I'll take care of him". Mama then tied me to a bedpost and commenced to whipping me. Mama finally stopped, sighed and locked me in my room for the rest of the day without anything to eat.
I overhead mama talking to Daddy Mitchell saying, "Mitch, I think that boy is acting like this because –well—I mean!" Daddy Mitchell cut off her conversation. I heard Daddy Mitchell say in an angry and furious voice "I know what you are trying to say, you're trying to say that the boy doesn't like me." The boy has a right to not like me if he doesn't want to, but he is a child and he has no right to disrespect grownups. For that boy to run off like he did was just down right disrespectful and defiant." After that, that was all I heard because I slipped out the window again. I was never at ease or felt at home in mama's house. I was very sensitive and took things very seriously even at a young age. I just couldn't understand why at home at my mother's house I couldn't get the consideration, love and comfort I got at my grandmother's house.
At home I felt unloved and unwanted almost like an orphan. My parents were never pleased with anything I did or was just unpleased with me period, my parents seemed to always be irritated with me. One thing for sure I didn't feel right at home with my mother and I just couldn't understand my mother. Mother was always letting me know that I had a serious account to settle with my Creator. That was when I start learning to fear GOD as intensely as I loathe my mother's house.
Chapter Four
Learning to Survive
I was seven when I enrolled in Thompson Elementary School. They boys at the school ran in gangs, and the little boys were bullied by the big ones. At the end of my first day of school the boys were waiting for me outside, I knew already that they would be. Of course they tried to bully me around and I wouldn't take it. They then started fighting me and for a boy my size I fought them back and I fought them skillfully, I was swinging my little hands at anyone that came near me. I faced them with my shirt torn and my jaw split, but I wouldn't back up and I stood my ground. My black satchel had fallen on the ground beside, one of the boys reached for it, but a swift fist from me caught him on the jaw. The boys jumped me again all together this time. The big boys were just looking on, I swung viciously, but there were too many for me. One kid was finally successful in snatching my satchel off the ground and he ran down the alley with it. Guess what, because I didn't back up I had proven myself to them to not be a coward and the gang accepted me as one of them.
When I got home mama tied me to the bedpost and whipped me again. I never understood why she whipped me. Did she whip me because I had gotten my satchel taken or did she whip me because I had been fighting at school? Anyway whatever the reason I ran away from home and went to my Aunt May's house, my father's sister.
Aunt May doctored my wounds and she went to mama and threatened to have her arrested if she put her hands on me again.
Mama agreed to let me stay with Aunt May and I stayed with her until the fall of the year when she took ill and died.
The neighborhood I lived in was a tough slum area. Petty thievery was a common everyday thing. When I was eight I achieved momentary notice by getting myself in jail for stealing. Because I was so young and it being my first time, I was only whipped by one of the Police Officers and taken home. When the police officer got home with me mama told him that she had been looking for something like this to happen to me, because she had been trying to keep me at home and she didn't know what to do about me. The officer advised her that she had better keep me off the street, If she didn't he'd see that I was sent to the reformatory. From that moment on mama left me to understand that she was not going to worry with me anymore, that she would let the "authorities" do what would needed to be done with me.
One day in the middle of summer a lady was visiting with mama sitting on the porch. I heard her ask mama, "Ora since God had to take one of your children, which one of the children would you have rather it been the girl or the boy?"
I heard mama say the boy, because I just – and then mama bit off the rest of her conversation and impulsively looked at me. I guess I looked so shocked that it drew her attention. That was first time I had even heard this, I didn't even know I had sister. I was watching mama so intensely, I think she realized that she had hurt me deeply. Mama then pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and very softly said, "I am thankful that I have a son,"
Her eyes met mine; I was the first to look away. The conversation seemed to collapse at that point. Mrs. Elsa the visitor then asked mama "When have you heard from the boy's father?"
Mama said, "Lord, I don't know when". "He doesn't write, neither does he send me any money anymore." Mrs. Elsa then said, "What I thought," she then stopped talking because mama had sent an imploring glance toward me. She said "Son, why don't you go and play with your little friends?" I was thinking then "She doesn't like me." She liked my sister, but she doesn't like me. The door latch clicked as I stepped outside.
One night in early March 1929 when I was nine years old, I hadn't been home or seen my parents in approximately a month. I was hanging forlornly on the corner of Fourth Avenue and a Gray Street when I heard mama calling me. I answered and went to her, slowly. I was dirty, cold and afraid. Had it been another time I probably would have run away from her.
"Yes mama" I answered. "Mama's been looking everywhere for you. Come on, let's go home. I've missed you lately. Where have you been staying?" She didn't pursue the topic, but looked at me fixedly. I didn't bother to explain to how I had been going to the white residences and begging for food; that I and other boys in my same condition religiously went through town begging on the streets for pennies. She knew that sometimes I ate off the city dump.
I didn't bother to tell her that I slept in old empty houses, empty boxcars. Sometimes, if the weather was cold I'd go home, but afraid to go into the house. I would crawl under the house and spend the night. Mama knew that because sometimes they'd hear me under there. They would come out and find me lying against the pillars of the house trying to keep warm.
Mama said, "You know mama worries about you a lot." I wish that I could have done a lot more for you than I have, but I've done the best I know how with the way things have been."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from THERE by Janice Russell Copyright © 2012 by Janice Russell. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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