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11/21/07 |
      
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Joe's MemoirsNow everyone should know that Joe Friday did not create this web site. I have read many of his memoirs and after creating and maintaining my own web site, I asked Joe if he would share his memoirs via the web with the rest of us that know him . I am honored to know Joe and everyone he has touched in his life has reaped the reward of just knowing him. These are the first of his memoirs and hopefully for the rest of us...not the last that he shares with us.
This site was last updated 07/06/07 Author: Hitec Redneck |
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By Joe Friday
IN THE 1940’S AND 50’S MY FATHER, J. FRED FRIDAY SR.,(1901-1986) WAS
THE SUPERINTENDENT OF THE DALLAS PRISON UNIT, DALLAS, NC. FROM
1940 THRU 1957 HE MANAGED THE PRISON WITH A FIRM HAND, BUT JUST
ENOUGH DISCIPLINE AND FAIRNESS THAT LEFT THE PRISON POPULATION
RESPECTING HIM AND THE JOB HE HAD TO DO. OVER THE YEARS I RAN
INTO PEOPLE WHO HAD SERVED TIME AT THE PRISON WHO WOULD TELL
ME WHAT A FINE PERSON MY DAD WAS AND HOW FAIR HE HAD TREATED
THEM.
RUNNING A PRISON REQUIRES MANAGING A LOT OF DIFFERENT AREAS.
A PRISON FARM, PRISON LAUNDRY, KITCHEN, SUPERVISING THE GUARD’S,
AND OTHER PERSONNEL.
AND ONE MORE PROJECT THAT DAD HAD A GOOD TIME WITH WAS HIS BLOODHOUNDS.
HIS DOGS WERE THE BEST IN WESTERN NORTH CAROLINA, AND THEY HAD
A REPUTATION TO PROVE IT.
THAT’S WHAT THIS LITTLE STORY IS ABOUT.
A CALL CAME INTO DAD’S OFFICE ONE HOT SUMMER DAY IN 1951. HE
WAS BEING CALLED TO COME HELP WITH A SEARCH FOR TWO PRISONERS
WHO HAD ESCAPED FROM A ROAD GANG WORKING ON HIGHWAY 90,
ABOUT SEVEN OR EIGHT MILES NORTH OF STATESVILLE.
DAD CALLS FOR JACK, HIS DOG HANDLER, GET THE DOG LOADED WE
GOT TO GO. IN A MATTER OF MINUTES THEY ARE ON THEIR WAY.
REMEMBER THIS IS 1951, NO INTERSTATES, ONLY TWO LANE BLACK TOP
WINDING ROADS ALL THE WAY TO STATESVILLE.
ARRIVING IN STATESVILLE THEY THREAD THEIR WAY THRU
DOWNTOWN AND TAKE HIGHWAY NORTH TOWARD THEIR DESTINATION.
IT WAS NOW PAST MID-DAY AND VERY HOT. OF COURSE THERE WAS NO
AIR CONDITIONING IN THE TRUCK.
ABOUT TI-TREE MILES OUT OF TOWN JACK TELL DAD, "THE DOGS SICK.”
THE BLOODHOUND HAD LOST HIS LUNCH IN THE BACK OF DAD’S PICKUP.
THE HEAT AND WINDING ROADS HAD MADE THE DOG SICK.
DAD LOOKS FOR A STOPPING PLACE AND FINDS A WIDE SPOT NEAR SOME
SHADE TREES AND PULLS OVER. HE SAYS TO JACK, “GET THE DOG OUT
AND WALK HIM AROUND, GET HIM SOME FRESH AIR.”
THEY HAD BEEN ON THE GROUND MAYBE FIVE MINUTES WHEN DAD
HEARD SOME YELLING AND NAME CALLING FROM WITHIN THE WOODS.
SIXTY YARDS TO THE LEFT AND DOWN IN THE WOODS STOOD THE TWO
ESCAPEES WITH THERE HANDS RAISED CALLIN DAD BY NAME, OFFERING
TO GIVE THEMSELVES UP.
THEY BELIEVED DAD HAD SOMEHOW LOCATED THEM AND WAS ABOUT
CAPTURE THEM. SO THE ONLY THING LEFT TO DO WAS “GIVE UP.”
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOUR REPUTATION PRECEDES YOU.
THE BACK OF THE TRUCK WAS KIND OF MESSED UP, BUT IN GOES TWO
MEN AND A DOG FOR A RIDE BACK TO THEIR SQUAD.
by Joe Friday
The phone rang just before noon on a cold cloudy day in February 1950. My dad answered on the
second ring. Rules in his office were to not let the phone ring over three times. The long-distance call
was from Mr. Don Phillips, Superintendent of the Alexander County Prison Camp in Taylorsville,
North Carolina, with a message that five long-term prisoners had escaped from a road gang just over
an hour ago. Mr. Phillips was asking for Dad’s help in their recapture.
Just a call of notification would have been sufficient because Dad was expected to go. The courtesy of helping your friend at a time like this was common throughout the Ninth Prison Division in Western North Carolina. And besides, Capt. Friday had the best bloodhounds in the state.
Anytime catching someone on foot was necessary Capt. Friday’s dogs were called for. I was fifteen years old and lived to go with my dad. I begged to go along. Dad told me to go by the house and get me a big coat and he would pick me up at the drive. I couldn’t run fast enough to get home, grab a coat and meet him and the dog-boy out at the road. Dog-boy is a dog handler, usually a prisoner, a trustee and one with a lot to time to build.
I piled into the prison truck, a 1950 Ford pickup with my dad and Jack, the dog-boy. I had no idea when we would eat next as Dad didn’t stop for soda pop.
We traveled at break-neck speed for 80 miles. No interstates then, just two lane blacktop roads for the next hour and a half. Dallas to Lincolnton, Maiden to Newton, Conover to Taylorsville and out into the mountains of Alexander County. Dad’s truck was equipped with a two-way radio on the highway patrol frequency. Today, his radio would be described as ancient. And, it was, but it worked. Others in the hunt knew when we arrived at the scene and we were taken immediately to a point where there was known to be a hot track. True to form, Dad’s dog was on the ground running within minutes of our arrival.
Standard procedure for those involved in the chase was to ride around the territory where the escapees were last seen. Vehicles were spaced out, sometimes within sight of each other. There were prison trucks, local sheriff’s cars, Highway Patrol cars and as many police officers as could be spared to help.
If the bloodhounds cross the road, the dog-boy or his helper puts a pine-top in the road with the sharp end pointed in the direction of travel. This lets others know that they have crossed the road at that point and moved into a new territory. Dad and I were now part of a rather large manhunt, circling the territory where the five escaped convicts were last seen.
It was cold and a light snow had started to fall. The Ford truck did not win any awards for its heater. I was slouched against the door trying to stay warm when Dad hit the brakes real hard and slid to a stop on this narrow mountain road. I sat up quickly and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Dad said, “Didn’t you see that rabbit run across the road?” Well, no I didn’t see it, but Dad did and he knew that rabbits don’t run in the daylight hours, unless jumped or scared out of their nest.
To my surprise, Dad reached in the glove box and brought out the biggest gun I had ever seen. It was a .38 caliber revolver, six shot with a six-inch barrel, a standard police issue.
“Here,” he said, “Take this and get over there behind that large tree, face away from the road, look into the woods, sit down, be quiet and listen. I’m going back up the road about a hundred yards and do the same.”
In a moment he was gone and I did as I was told. I sat there less than five minutes when above the wind rattling the leaves, I heard them coming. There were five of them, three in stripes and the other two in brown prison clothes.
The rest of the story is a bit sketchy, but as Dad told it later, I brought them all out onto the road, hands up, in single file and very much under control.
I was not cold and didn’t shake. I don’t remember being scared, but I do remember being very proud. My dad let me fire the three shots into the air to signal capture to the dog-boy and the guards.
It was a good trip back home, but the story never became a big deal... until now!
**************
Mountain Capture is a true story written by Joe Friday of Denver, NC, while a member of a class called “Writing the Stories of Your Life” held at the Lake Norman Lutheran Church.
THE ONLY JOB MY DAD EVER HAD, WAS WORKING FOR THE GOVERNMENT. FIRST HE WORKED FOR THE COUNTY OF GASTON, DALLAS, NC AND A MAN NAMED C. W. COSTNER. MR. COSTNER’S PEOPLE MAINTAINED THE ROADS IN GASTON COUNTY. MOST ROADS THEN WERE DIRT AND REQUIRED DRAGGING OR SCRAPING IN AN ATTEMPT TO KEEP THEM SMOOTH TO SOME DEGREE. IN 1935 (TO THE BEST OF MY MEMORY) THE STATE OF NORTH CAROLINA TOOK OVER MAINTENANCE OF ALL COUNTY ROADS.
DAD THEN WENT TO WORK FOR THE STATE OF NORTH CAROLINA. BASICALLY DOING THE SAME WORK, KEEPING UP THE ROADS IN GASTON COUNTY. WHEN THE COUNTY AND LATER THE STATE KEPT UP THE ROADS, PRISON LABOR WAS USED. UNDER THE STATE SUPERVISION THEY WORKED MEN IN SQUADS OF 8 TO 10 PRISONERS. AT SOME POINT DAD BECAME A FOREMAN, SUPERVISING THE WORK OF A SQUAD.
THEN IN 1940 DAD WAS ASK TO BECOME SUPERINTENDENT OF THE DALLAS PRISON CAMP, NO: 905. THE NEXT YEAR DAD BOUGHT A LOT AND HAD A HOUSE BUILT JUST ACROSS THE ROAD FROM THE PRISON, SO HE COULD BE CLOSE TO HIS WORK, AND HE WORKED MANY HOURS A DAY.
HE WAS GOOD AT HIS JOB AND HE LOVED IT.
WHERE THERE ARE PRISONERS THERE WILL BE ONE TRYING TO ESCAPE. AND OF COURSE THAT WAS THE CASE AT THE DALLAS PRISON. SOMETIMES THEY ARE SUCCESSFUL AND DO GET AWAY.
THIS LEADS TO WHAT METHODS DO YOU USE TO CATCH A RUNAWAY. DAD BRED AND RAISED SOME OF THE FINEST BLOODHOUNDS EVER SEEN IN NORTH CAROLINA. HE ALWAYS HAD TWO OR THREE DOGS THAT WERE WELL TRAINED AND COULD BE USED ON A MAN HUNT AT ANYTIME.
THE REPUTATION OF DAD’S BLOODHOUNDS WAS WELL KNOWN ALL OVER THE STATE.
ABOUT THE MIDDLE OF THE MORNING ON A SUMMER DAY IN 1952, DAD STARTED LISTENING TO SOME RADIO TRAFFIC FROM THE PRISON RADIO FREQUENCY ORIGINATING OVER IN MONTGOMERY CO, TROY, NC.
A PRISONER HAD ESCAPED FROM A ROAD GANG NEAR THE TOWN OF MOUNT GILEAD. THERE WAS NOTHING UNUSUAL ABOUT THIS, IT SEEMED THAT THERE WAS ONE OR TWO ESCAPED SOMEWHERE IN WESTERN NORTH CAROLINA EVERY WEEK. EXCEPT THEY COULDN’T SEEM TO CATCH THIS MAN. THE HUNT CONTINUED ALL DAY.
WHEN AT ABOUT 5 O’CLOCK DAD RECEIVED A PHONE CALL FROM THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR OF PRISON. HE HAD JOINED THE HUNT JUST AFTER MID-DAY AND IT SEEMED THEY WERE NOT MAKING ANY PROGRESS AT ALL. THIS ESCAPEE WAS DANGEROUS, HE HAD BEEN CONVICTED OF RAPE
AND WAS SERVING A 25 TO 30 YEAR SENTENCE.
THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR WAS CALLIN' FOR DADS HELP. BRING YOUR DOG AND COME GIVE US YOUR EXPERTISE. THE REPUTATION OF DAD’S DOGS HAD THEM CALLING FOR HELP.
FROM DALLAS, NC TO MOUNT GILEAD, NC IS PROBABLY NO MORE THAN 75-80 MILES BUT YOU MUST GO THRU THE CITY OF CHARLOTTE TO GET THERE.
IT WAS APPROACHING 7 O’CLOCK WHEN DAD ARRIVED WITH JACK, THE DOG HANDLER, AND HIS BLOODHOUND.
DAD TOLD THE STORY OF HIS ARRIVAL AND BEING MET BY A VERY CONCERNED ASST. DIRECTOR. THIS ESCAPEE WAS VERY DANGEROUS AND HAD THE ENTIRE COMMUNITY UPSET.
DAD ASK FOR AN UPDATE ON WHEN THEY LAST HAD A TRAIL AND WAS TOLD THAT HE HAD BEEN TRAILED FROM NEAR MOUNT GILEAD ALONG THE RAILROAD TOWARDS TROY AND THEN THEY LOST HIM. WITH ONLY THIS BIT OF INFORMATION DAD TOLD THE DIRECTOR HE WOULD BE BACK,
HE WANTED TO LOOK THE AREA OVER. HE DROVE OFF AND DOWN TO THE AREA WHERE THEY LAST HAD A TRAIL. AFTER SURVEYING THE PLACE DAD ASK JACK, “WHY DO YOU THINK THEY
LOST THE TRAIL?’ JACK REPLIED, “I THINK HE HOPPED A TRAIN AND RODE IT TOWARDS TROY, NOT LEAVING A SCENT FOR THE DOGS.” WITH THIS IN MIND THEY RIDE THE HIGHWAY IN THE DIRECTION OF TROY. FOR A LONG DISTANCE THE RAILROAD TRACKS RUN PARALLEL WITH THE HIGHWAY BETWEEN MOUNT GILEAD AND TROY AND NOT VERY FAR AWAY AT ANY POINT. DAD AND JACK DECIDE BETWEEN THEM THAT THE ESCAPEE WOULD NOT RIDE THE TRAIN ALL THE WAY INTO TOWN FOR FEAR OF BEING SEEN. AND IF HE DID HOP A RIDE THAT HE WOULD PROBABLY DROP OFF OUTSIDE OF TOWN AND WAIT TILL DARK TO MOVE.
IT IS ALREADY DUSKY DARK AS THEY NEAR THE TOWN LIMITS OF TROY. DAD TELLS JACK TO TAKE THE BLOODHOUND DOWN TO THE RAILROAD AND START WORKING HIS WAY BACK TOWARDS MOUNT GILEAD.
BY NOW DARKNESS HAS BEGUN TO SETTLE IN AND JACK MOVED DOWN THE RAILROAD SLOWLY AND VERY QUIET. TRUE TO THEIR THINKING THE PRISONER WALKS RIGHT UP TO JACK AND THE DOG BEFORE HE SEES THEM. DAD IS MOVING ALONG THE HIGHWAY CLOSE BY AND IN ONLY
A MATTER OF MINUTES THEY HAVE HIM IN THE TRUCK. THE STATE OF NORTH CAROLINA FURNISHED DAD WITH A PICK-UP TRUCK AND A CUSTOM MADE CAGE THAT FIT ON THE BACK.
THIS IS WHERE HE HAULED HIS DOG AND WHERE THE PRISONERS WERE PLACE! WHEN BEING TRANSPORTED. IN THIS CASE IT HELD BOTH THE DOG AND PRISONER. IT WAS A SHORT TRIP BACK TO THE STAGING AREA WHERE THERE WAS A LARGE GROUP OF PRISON PERSONNEL, LOCAL DEPUTIES, STATE HIGHWAY PATROL AND OTHERS MILLING AROUND. DAD PULLS UP IN HIS BROWN PRISON PICK-UP AND IS IMMEDIATELY MET BY THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR. “WELL CAPTAIN FRIDAY, WHAT DO YOU THINK?" “HAVE YOU GOT ANY IDEA’S WHERE HE MIGHT BE?” ALL DAD SAID WAS "I GOT HIM."
(NOW REMEMBER, IT’S DARK) THE DIRECTOR WAS RATHER SHARP WITH DAD IN SAYING, “LOOK CAPTAIN FRIDAY, THIS IS SERIOUS AND NOW'S NOT THE TIME FOR KIDDING AROUND.” EVERYONE SOON KNEW THAT THE CAPTURE HAD BEEN MADE AND WAS RELIEVED THAT IT WAS OVER.
A CHASE THAT LASTED ALL DAY AND INTO THE NIGHT.
I GREW UP ON THE PRISON FARM, SO DOING FARM WORK WHEN I BECAME OLD ENOUGH WAS SECOND NATURE. MY DAD WAS THE SUPERINTENDENT OF THE DALLAS PRISON CAMP FROM 1940 - 1959, MY GROWING UP YEARS. I NEVER THOUGHT TWICE ABOUT HELPING ON THE FARM BECAUSE I KNEW WHAT I DID PLEASED MY DAD.
I LEARNED TO DRIVE A MULE TO A PLOW, THEN TWO MULES TO A PLOW, A FARM TRUCK, A SMALL FARM TRACTOR AND FINALLY A BIG CRAWLER
TRACTOR. ALL BEFORE I WAS SIXTEEN YEARS OLD.
EVEN IN THE 40’S AND 50’S PRISONS WERE EXPENSIVE TO MAINTAIN. PART OF THE SUPERINTENDENT’S RESPONSIBILITY WAS TO KEEP THE COST DOWN. COST WAS MEASURED BY WHAT IT COST TO KEEP A PRISONER BY THE DAY. SIXTY-FIVE TO SEVENTY-FIVE CENT A DAY FOR A PRISONEWS KEEP AND YOU RAN A GOOD SHIP. LET IT GET TO EIGHTY CENTS AND OVER AND RALEIGH BEGAN TO ASK QUESTIONS. (RALEIGH WAS HEADQUARTERS FOR THE STATE PRISON SYSTEM.)
SO THE QUESTION AROSE, HOW TO KEEP THE COST AT A LEVEL THAT MADE EVERYBODY HAPPY?
SINCE ONE OF THE MOST EXPENSIVE PARTS OF KEEPING AN INMATE WAS FOOD, IT WAS PRACTICAL TO RAISE FOOD AND PRESERVE AS MUCH AS YOU COULD. THE DALLAS PRISON CAMP HAD A GOOD RECORD OF KEEPING WITHIN THE PRESCRIBED AMOUNT BY HAVING A GOOD WORKING FARM. THAT CONSISTED OF A PAIR OF MULES. SEVERAL MILK COWS.
A FEW BEEF COWS, SEVERAL TRACTORS AND VARIOUS WAGONS AND
SPREADERS. MORE IMPORTANT THAN ANY THING WAS THE HOG FARM.
THE HOG FARM DREW MOST OF THE ATTENTION BECAUSE IT PRODUCED
ENOUGH PORK TO FEED THE INMATES AT THE DALLAS CAMP AND
ALSO SHIP PORK TO OTHER PRISON CAMPS FOR CREDIT TOWARD THE
OVERALL OPERATING COST.
HAD IT BEEN UP TO “US" THERE WOULD HAVE BEEN ENOUGH PORK TO
FEED THE ENTIRE PRISON POPULATION. IF DAD EVER KNEW ABOUT THE
THINGS WE DID WE WERE NEVER AWARE OF IT.
“US” WAS A GROUP OF NEIGHBORHOOD BOYS, ( WE ALL LIVED NEAR THE
PRISON). WE WERE GREAT FRIENDS, WHO PLAYED TOGETHER AND GOT
INTO TROUBLE TOGETHER. WE WERE, LARRY RANKIN, (LARRY LOST
SEVERAL FINGERS ON HIS LEFT HAND BECAUSE HE HELD A FIRECRACKER
A SECOND TOO LONG). LARRY’S YOUNGER BROTHER JOE RANK1N AND
THEIR FIRST COUSIN BILLY BEST. JOE DAN GARDNER, (WHOSE BROTHER
BILL LATER MARRIED MY SISTER). MY YOUNGER BROTHER JOHNNY
AND I WAS PART OF THE GROUP.
WHAT WE DID FOR ENTERTAINMENT, AND WHAT NO ONE EVER KNEW
ABOUT WAS TO SLIP DOWN TO THE HOG PENS (THEY WERE LOCATED
IN AN ISOLATED AREA ANYWAY) TO BREED SEVERAL HOGS EACH TRIP.
THE PENS WERE CONSTRUCTED WITH GATES AND RUNS TO DO JUST
WHAT WE WERE DOING. ALL WE HAD TO DO WAS OPEN THIS GATE AND
THAT GATE AND LET THE HOGS GO AT IT. NO ONE EVER THOUGHT A
BUNCH OF BOYS WOULD BE USING IT FOR FUN.
THE MILK COWS PROVIDED RAW MILK FOR MOST EVENING MEALS.
CORNBREAD AND MILK.
THE DALLAS PRISON CAMP WAS BUILT TO BE A HUNDRED MAN UNIT.
BUT MOST OF THE TIME THE HEAD COUNT WOULD BE 110 TO 120.
EVERY MAN WAS COUNTED AT MEALTIME AND AT BEDTIME.
WHEN SCHOOL LET OUT FOR THE SUMMER I SPENT EVERYDAY WITH
CAPTAIN HIRAM ENGRAM AND THE INMATES ASSIGNED TO THE FARM.
MR. ENGRAM’S RESPONSIBILITY WAS SUPERVISION OVER THE FARM.
HE STAYED AT THE CAMP DURING THE WEEK GOING TO HIS HOME
ON THE LOWER DALLAS ROAD ONLY ON THE WEEKEND.
ONE’ FIRST THOUGHTS WOULD BE THAT THERE SHOULD BE PLENTY OF
‘FREE’ LABOR TO DO THE FARM WORK. BUT I REFER BACK TO KEEPING
THE COST DOWN WHILE TRYING TO RUN A PRISON. A CERTAIN AMOUNT
OF CREDIT WAS GIVEN FOR EVERY PRISONER THAT WORKED THAT DAY.
BUT ONLY THOSE PRISONERS WHO WERE CHECKED OUT TO WORK ON
THE STATE ROADS CARRIED ANY CREDIT. THUS, A COOK, A DOG-BOY
OR DISHWASHER, OR A FARM HAND DIDN’T GET YOU ANY CREDIT.
BECAUSE OF THIS, SERVICE PEOPLE WERE KEPT TO A MINIMUM.
ROWS AND ROWS OF TOMATOES WERE GROWN, EATEN FRESH IN-SEASON
AND CANNED FOR EATING DURING THE WINTER.
UNDER THE SUPERVISION OF CAPTAIN BUB CROCKER, (MR. CROCKER
WAS ASSISTANT SUPERINTENDENT) LOTS OF VEGETABLES AND FRUITS
WERE PREPARED AND CANNED.
GREEN BEANS, PEACHES AND APPLES. EVERY YEAR DAD WOULD SEND
A DRIVER AND A DUMP TRUCK TO THE MOUNTAINS NEAR HENDERSONVILLE,
NC TO GET A LOAD OF APPLES. THESE APPLES WERE NOT BOXED,
THEY WERE LOADED LOOSE IN THE DUMP TRUCK AND THEN DUMPED
ON THE GROUND IN THE SHADE OF A BIG OAK TREE IN THE CAMP YARD.
ON SATURDAY WHEN THE PRISONERS DID NOT GO OUT TO WORK ON
THE ROADS THEY WOULD GATHER AROUND THIS HUGE PILE OF APPLES
AND PEEL TILL THE PILE DISAPPEARED. THEY WERE PROPERLY
PREPARED AND THEN CANNED IN SILVER GALLON CANS.
THE SAME KIND OF TRIP WAS MADE TO GAFFNEY, SC WHEN PEACHES
WERE IN SEASON. BY BUYING IN BULK, WITHOUT BOXES I’M SURE
GOOD PRICES WERE OBTAINED.
THAT WAS JUST ONE MORE WAY TO KEEP THE COST DOWN.
IN 1954 AN EARLY MORNING FIRE DESTROYED THE HUGE WHITE BARN
THAT HOUSED SOME LIVESTOCK AND SEVERAL FARM MACHINES.
THE MACHINES AND ANIMALS WERE SAVED BUT TONS AND TONS OF
FRESH CUT HAY WENT UP IN FLAMES. IT WAS BELIEVED THAT HAY HAD
BEEN STACKED TOO CLOSE TO A LIGHT BULB IN THE HAY LOFT.
A REPLACEMENT BARN WAS BUILT, EFFICIENT BUT NOT SO MUCH OF
A BARN AS BEFORE. THE OLD BARN WAS ONE OF THOSE EARLY TWENTIETH
CENTURY BUILDINGS THAT HAD BEAUTY AND CHARACTER.
LIKE ANY FARMER SHORT OF ACREAGE, DAD FARMED LAND OWNED
BY OTHERS. PAYMENT WAS MADE BY SHARING THE CROP.
I REMEMBER ONE PARTICULAR LAND-OWNER, MR. BLAIR FALLS
HOUSER, THE LOCAL UNDERTAKER, WHOSE FAMILY OWNED A LARGE
TRACT OF LAND AT LONG CREEK ON THE OLD DALLAS-GASTONIA
HIGHWAY. THIS PROPERTY HAD A HUGE PIECE OF BOTTOM LAND.
BOTTOM LAND IS LOW LYING PROPERTY NEXT TO A CREEK OR RIVER,
AND TENDS TO FLOOD WHEN WE HAVE EXTENDED PERIODS OF RAIN.
USUALLY THE LAND IS FERTILE AND PRODUCES A GOOD CROP. BUT
SOMETIMES IT’S WET AND DOESN’T DRAIN WELL.
DAD MADE A DEAL WITH MR. HOUSER TO FARM THIS BOTTOM SOMETIME ABOUT 1950.
THIS WAS ONE OF THOSE PIECES THAT DIDN’T DRAIN WELL, SO BEFORE
WE COULD PLANT ANYTHING WE HAD TO DRAIN IT OR GET IT DRY.
THE LAND WAS FIXED TO DRAIN PROPERLY BY CUTTING A TRENCH,
(A LARGE DITCH) RIGHT THROUGH THE MIDDLE. DAD LET ME OPERATE
A LARGE CRAWLER TRACTOR PULLING A GRADER THAT HE OPERATED,
AND FOR TWO DAYS WE WENT ABOUT BUILDING THIS TRENCH.
THIS WAS MY FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH A TRACTOR THIS SIZE AND I WAS
ONLY FIFTEEN YEARS OLD.
BY PLANTING TIME THE FIELD HAD DRAINED PROPERLY SO IT COULD
BE CULTIVATED. WE PLANTED CORN IN THAT BOTTOM FOR YEARS TO
COME, WITH ROWS LONGER THAN YOU COULD SEE.
CORN TO FEED THE ANIMALS AND THE INMATES. JUST ANOTHER WAY
TO KEEP THE COST DOWN.
[FINISHED HIGH SCHOOL IN THE SPRING OF ‘54 AND WORKED AT A
REGULAR JOB THAT SUMMER GETTING READY FOR COLLEGE.
FORTY-SEVEN YEARS LATER, I STILL HAVE FOND MEMORIES OF THE
PRISON FARM.
THE LONGER I LIVE AND THE MORE I SEE AND LEARN ABOUT OUR
ECONOMY THE MORE PROUD I BECOME OF MY FATHER AND HIS ABILITY
TO RAISE THREE CHILDREN AND KEEP A HOUSEHOLD TOGETHER . IT WAS
ACCOMPLISHED IN THE THIRTIES (COMING OUT OF A DEPRESSION) AND
IN THE FORTIES (DURING WORLD WAR II) AND IN THE FIFTIES, WHEN WE
AS TEENAGERS REQUIRED MORE AND MORE.
IN ADDITION TO RAISING THE THREE OF US, HE HAD A NEW HOUSE BUILT
IN 1940 AND ALL ON THE SALARY OF A STATE EMPLOYEE. DAD’S JOB AS
SUPERINTENDENT OF THE PRISON PAID HIM MORE THAN THE AVERAGE
MAN ON THE STREET BUT IT WAS STILL A PITIFUL AMOUNT.
I’LL NEVER FORGET THE LOOK ON DAD’S FACE WHEN I SHOWED HIM MY
FIRST CHECK, WORKING FOR THE AIR NATIONAL GUARD, IT WAS MORE
THAN HIS AND HE HAD BEEN ON THE JOB ALL HIS LIFE.
I MENTION ALL OF THE ABOVE BECAUSE OF SOMETHING THAT HAPPENED
YESTERDAY, TUESDAY THE 7TH OF MARCH 2006.
I HAD TAKEN THE DAY OFF BECAUSE OF SEVERAL THINGS PLANNED AND
FINISHED UP ABOUT FOUR O’CLOCK IN DALLAS. FOR WEEKS I KEPT
TELLING MY SELF TO GO SEE HAROLD WHITE AND HIS WIFE IRIS.
HAROLD IS A LONG TIME FRIEND AND HUNTING BUDDY. HAROLD IS 82
YEARS AND IRIS IS 80 YEARS OLD. HAROLD AND IRIS RAISED THREE BOYS
AND A GIRL, AND LIKE NANCY AND I, STRUGGLED THROUGH THE YEARS
TO PAY FOR THEM. WE LAUGHED AND TALKED ABOUT OLD TIMES, KIDS,
OUR SURGERIES AND MANY OTHER SUBJECTS. IN THE CONVERSATION
HAROLD REMINDED ME ABOUT THE SPORT COAT THAT I HAD GIVEN TO
HIS OLDEST, HAROLD JR. (HAL). YES, I DID REMEMBER, HAL HAD GROWN
LIKE A WEED, TALL AND SKINNY JUNIOR OR SENIOR IN HIGH SCHOOL AND
I HAD A SPORT COAT THAT HAD BECOME TOO TIGHT. WHEN I BOUGHT
THE COAT I WAS TALL AND SKINNY.
REFLECTING ON THE COAT I HAD GIVEN TO HAL, REMINDED ME OF A TIME
WHEN I NEEDED A SPORT COAT.
WHEN I WAS A JUNIOR IN HIGH SCHOOL I NEEDED A SPORT COAT, I HAD
BECOME A TEENAGER WEARING SHIRTS WITH A SWEATER AND IF NEEDED
A LARGE WINTER DENIM JACKET. NO SPORT JACKET WITH SHIRT AND TIE.
BUT NOW TIMES WERE CHANGING AND I WAS GETTING OLDER.
TIME FOR A WARDROBE CHANGE. AFTER SOME PROMPTING AND
CONJOLING TO DAD, HE AGREES TO GET ME A SPORT COAT.
I’M SURE THERE WERE CHEAPER PLACES IN TOWN (BELK’S, RAYLASS, OR
MAYBE THE SALVATION ARMY STORE) BUT DAD TOOK ME TO “WARREN
GARDNER’S YOUNG MEN’S STORE ON MAIN STREET GASTONIA.
OF COURSE WARREN GARDNER’S NO LONGER EXIST AND I BELIEVE THE
BUILDING IS NOW OWNED BY ANN SCHENK, DR. GARY SCHENK’S WIFE.
MY DAUGHTER KIM, THROUGH KNOWING THE SCHENK’S HAS OBTAINED
A SHIRT DISPLAY CASE FROM THE ORIGINAL STORE, AND DISPLAY’S HER
CHILDREN’S SPORTS TROPHIES AND PLAQUES. NO ONE WOULD KNOW,
50 – 60 YEARS AGO THAT DISPLAY CASE WAS DISPLAYING WHITE SHIRTS.
ANYWAY, WE GO TO THE STORE, “WARREN GARDNER’S YOUNG MEN’S
STORE.” DAD AND I LOOK AT SPORT COATS, THE TEN DOLLAR RACK,
NOW I’M TALL AND SKINNY, AT LEAST SIX-FOUR, AND NOT MANY COATS
THAT SIZE ARE AVAILABLE. BUT, AFTER SEARCHING WE FIND ONE WE
BOTH LIKE AND IT FITS. WE DECIDE THAT THIS IS THE ONE FOR ME, AND
WE MOVE TO THE CASHIER TO PAY. NOW SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE
TEN DOLLAR RACK AND THE CASHIER WE MISTAKENLY GET A COAT
OFF THE THIRTY-NINE DOLLAR RACK. NEITHER DAD NOR I REALIZED
THIS UNTIL THE CASHIER SAID, FORTY DOLLARS AND SEVENTEEN CENTS.
MR. GARDNER HIMSELF IS ACTING CASHIER AT THIS TIME, AND DAD’S
NOT ABOUT TO BACK-UP. I CAN SEE IT IN HIS FACE. IT HURTS. HE HAD
NO INTENTION OF PAYING THIS KIND OF MONEY FOR A COAT.
BUT DAD DIGS OUT THE MONEY AND PAYS MR. GARDNER AS IF ALL IS
WELL. THEY PUT MY COAT IN ONE OF THOSE ZIPPER BAGS AND WE
LEAVE THE STORE AND NOT ONE WORD IS EVER MENTIONED ABOUT
WHAT JUST HAPPENED. NOTHING WAS SAID BUT I’LL ALWAYS
REMEMBER THE LOOK ON DAD’S FACE. TOO PROUD TO BACK-UP.
WHEN I WAS GROWING UP, DOCTORS MADE HOUSE CALLS. I CAN SEE
OLD DR. W. M. JONES COMING TO OUR HOUSE TO SEE ABOUT MY MOTHER,
AND THAT’S BEEN 50 YEARS AGO. MOTHER WAS DIAGNOSED WITH
INFLAMMATORY ARTHRITIS THAT KEPT HER IN BED FOR WEEKS AT A TIME.
BUT MY MOTHERS ILLNESS IS NOT WHAT THIS STORY IS ABOUT. I MUST
HAVE BEEN 12-13 YEARS OLD AN ONE MORNING I WOKE UP WITH A
PIMPLE ABOUT MIDDLE WAYS OF MY LITTLE PENIS AND A LITTLE TO THE
RIGHT SIDE. IN LESS THAN TWO DAYS IT DEVELOPED INTO A FULL
BLOWN BOIL, SO SORE THAT TEARS CAME TO MY EYES WHEN MY SHORTS
RUBBED IT.
SO, I TOLD DAD ABOUT MY MEDICAL PROBLEM, AND HE TOLD ME TO
STAY AT HOME FROM SCHOOL THAT DAY, THAT DR. JONES WOULD
PROBABLY BE BY TO CHECK ON A SICK PRISONER.
I TOLD MY BEST FRIEND ABOUT MY PROBLEM AND HE DECIDED TO
STAY HOME FROM SCHOOL THAT DAY AND KEEP ME COMPANY.
MY BEST FRIEND WAS NONE OTHER THAN GENE RATCHFORD, WHO
LATER BECAME MY BROTHER-IN-LAW.
WELL, I WASN’T REALLY SICK, SO GENE AND I GO ACROSS THE ROAD
TO THE PRISON CAMP AND HANGOUT WHILE WAITING ON THE DOCTOR.
MAYBE I SHOULD EXPLAIN WHY WE WOULD GO TO THE PRISON CAMP TO
HANGOUT.
MY DAD, FRED FRIDAY WAS THE SUPERINTENDENT OF THE DALLAS
PRISON CAMP, SOMETIMES CALLED THE “CHAIN-GANG.” DAD TOOK OVER
THIS JOB IN 1940 AND WE MOVED TO A NEW HOUSE ON THE
DALLASCHERRYVILLE HIGHWAY ACROSS FROM THE PRISON IN 1941.
MY BROTHER AND I SPENT MANY HOURS ON THE PRISON FARM AND IN
SIDE THE COMPOUND WHILE GROWING UP.
I REMEMBER THE SEASON AS BEING LATE MAY AND THE WEATHER
HAD TURNED REALLY HOT FOR MAY. I APPROACHED DAD SEVERAL
TIMES ABOUT WHEN WOULD THE DOCTOR GET THERE AND HE WOULD
SAY TO ME, “DON’T WORRY, HE’LL BE HERE.”
FOR THE MOST PART, A WORK DAY AT THE PRISON CAMP WAS VERY
QUIET, YOU MIGHT HEAR THE RATTLE OF POTS AND PANS FROM THE
KITCHEN, WHERE THE PREPARATION OF A MEAL WAS ALWAYS IN
PROGRESS. OR MAYBE THE HOWLING OF THE BLOOD HOUNDS IF THEY
BECAME EXCITED ABOUT SOMETHING. THE PRISON IS LOCATED ABOUT
A MILE OUT OF DALLAS AND IN THE 40’S AND 50’S THIS WAS CONSIDERED
COUNTRY. JUST BEFORE LUNCH THE NOISE FROM ONE OF THE STATE TRUCKS
CAUGHT EVERYONE’S ATTENTION AS IT CAME RUSHING DOWN AND AROUND
THE PRISON CAMP ROAD. IT WAS NOT SUPPOSE TO BE COMING IN AT THIS
TIME OF DAY. ALL WHO WERE PRESENT KNEW THERE WAS A PROBLEM WHEN
THE TRUCK CAME TO A HALT AT THE STEPS TO THE OFFICE. THERE WERE
THREE MEN IN THE TRUCK, A DRIVER UNDER THE WHEEL, A GUARD SEATED
ON THE RIGHT AND A PRISONER SITTING BETWEEN THEM. AT FIRST GLANCE,
NOTHING UNUSUAL. BUT, LOOKING CLOSER THE PRISONER LOOKED A
LITTLE PALE. THE GUARD STARTED TO EXPLAIN, THEY BELIEVED THE MAN
HAD HAD A HEART ATTACK, WHILE WORKING IN A ROAD CREW ABOUT SIX
MILES NORTH NEAR HIGH SHOALS. THEY GOT HIM UP IN THE TRUCK AN HEADED
BACK TO CAMP WITH HIM. SEVERAL BY STANDERS PULLED HIM FROM THE CAB OF
THE TRUCK AND LAID HIM OUT ON THE GRASS IN THE SHADE.
ONE MUST UNDERSTAND THE TIME AND PLACE, LATE FORTIES, DOCTORS ARE
MILES AWAY AND HOSPITALS EVEN FARTHER. NO OXYGEN BOTTLES, NO EMT
PERSONNEL AND NO ONE HAD TRAINING IN RESUSCITATION.
I DON’T REMEMBER WHO, BUT SOMEONE TRIED FOR A HEART BEAT OR PULSE
TO NO AVAIL. SOMEONE PRONOUNCED HIM DEAD AND THEY MOVED HIM INTO
THE COMPOUND. A SINGLE COT WAS FOUND SOMEWHERE AND PLACED UNDER
ONE OF THE LARGE OAK TREES IN FRONT OF THE MAIN CELL BLOCK.
THE BODY WAS PUT ON THE COT AND A SHEET FROM THE LAUNDRY WAS PLACED
OVER HIM.
DAD WENT INTO HIS OFFICE AND CALLED DR. JONES, I SUPPOSE TO COME AND
VERIFY THAT THE MAN WAS DEAD.
IT’S NOW PASSED LUNCH TIME, BUT THE MEAL HAS BEEN DELAYED
TILL NOW AND WE ALL GO IN AND GO THRU THE MOTIONS OF EATING.
FINALLY THE DOCTORS ON HIS WAY TO SEE ABOUT MY MEDICAL
PROBLEM. THERE WAS SOME WAITING INVOLVED TILL THE DOCTOR ARRIVES BUT
THERE WAS A LOT GOING ON. ANOTHER STATE TRUCK ARRIVES WITH THREE MEN
IN THE CAB AS BEFORE. ONLY THIS TIME IT’S THE DRIVER AND TWO TRUSTEES.
THE PRISONER IN THE MIDDLE HAS BEEN BADLY CUT ON THE WRIST. WHILE CUTTING
BUSHES ALONG THE RIGHT-A-WAY ANOTHER PRISONERS BUSH AX ACCIDENTALLY
PUT A CUT ON THE WRIST DEEP ENOUGH TO EXPOSE THE LEADERS WHICH WERE CUT
AND CURLED. THE BLEEDING HAD BEEN PRETTY WELL CONTROLLED, YET BLOOD
SEEMED TO BE ON EVERYTHING.
JUST ABOUT NOW “MY” DOCTOR ARRIVES AND SENDS THEM ON TO THE HOSPITAL.
TO THIS DAY I DON’T REMEMBER ANYTHING ABOUT THIS MAN’S CONDITION.
DOCTOR JONES AND MY DAD VISITED IN DAD’S OFFICE FOR A SHORT TIME AND
WHEN THEY EMERGED DR. JONES CAME STRAIGHT TO ME AND SAID,
“CAPTAIN FRIDAY SAYS YOU GOT A PROBLEM." I ANSWERED, “YES SIR.”
HE TOOK ME TO THE BACK OF THE MAIN CELL BLOCK TO A LARGE CELL REFERRED
TO AS THE “SICK ROOM.” HERE IN THIS ROOM IS WHERE SICK PRISONERS WERE
ISOLATED FROM THE MAIN POPULATION.
I HAD BEEN HERE MANY TIMES AND WAS NOT THE LEAST BIT INTIMIDATED, I WALKED
WITH THE DOCTOR RIGHT UP TO THE LARGE WALL MOUNTED MEDICINE CABINET.
HE UNLOCKED IT. RETRIEVED A PIECE OF COTTON SOAKED WITH RUBBING ALCOHOL
AND SAID, “LET’S SEE YOUR PROBLEM,” I UN-BUTTONED GOT THAT THING OUT VERY
CAREFULLY AND LAID IT RIGHT IN HIS HAND.
IN ONE SWIFT FLUID MOVEMENT HE WIPED IT CLEAN WITH THE COTTON, REACHED
BACK INTO THE MEDICINE CABINET AND CAME OUT WITH A SMALL SCALPEL AND LANCED
MY BOIL BEFORE I COULD EVEN THINK ABOUT WHAT WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN.
THE PRESSURE WAS RELEASED AND MY LITTLE BOIL EXPLODED LIKE A BOMB.
AND THAT’S ALL I REMEMBER UNTIL I AWOKE LAYING ON THE GROUND UNDER THE
BIG SHADE TREE BESIDE THE DEAD MAN. I BELIEVE GROWING UP AROUND THE PRISON
CAMP WAS A PLUS IN MY LIFE. EARLY ON, I BECAME AWARE OF ADULT THINGS. SAW
AND HEARD THINGS BEFORE THE OTHER KIDS. LEARNED MANY LESSONS FIRST HAND.
I LOOK BACK WITH FOND MEMORIES.
This week (June 30, 2002), we are studying the necessity of passing on God’s Word, God’s teachings to the next generation. The lesson brings to mind a story about my Dad that’s worth passing on.
The time would be about 1930. Horses and buggies were still the primary mode of travel. Dad lived at home with his family in the Hardin Community of Gaston County, N. C. He was not married yet. Dad had a pretty nice trotter that he kept at home for his transportation and dating. A few miles away in the Community of High Shoals (a much larger community) there was a livery stable owned and run by a Mr. David Abernathy. Dad had spotted a horse there that he particularly liked and had been watching for sometime. On Saturday morning he stopped to look (as we might today stop and look in at an auto dealership). As he gazed around, again looking at this horse, but not allowing to Mr. Abernathy what horse he might be interested in, Mr. Abernathy approached. “What you got on you mind Fred?” Without elaborating, Dad told Mr. Abernathy he might be interested in trading. Mr. Abernathy made his living buying, selling and trading horses. Dad’s black long legged trotter had a reputation of being very fast pulling a buggy. The horse was well known in Northern Gaston County. As the story goes, the trade was made. No details were revealed, but I’m led to believe that both men thought they got the best of the deal.
Several weeks passed in which Dad shod and worked his new horse to perfection, up and down the dirt roads around Hardin.
Sunday morning came and Dad was up and out early because he had a date with a Miss Lena Huggins, who lived in Dallas. Now Dallas was five miles away (South of Hardin) which meant he had five miles to go, in a buggy, before his “date” started. (Sometime after becoming a teenager but before marriage, my sister and I were in church at the Dallas Baptist Church when Mrs. Lena Huggins Smith came in with her husband. My sister said to me “just think she could have been our mother”.) Dad picked tip Miss Lena and they left Dallas on the Philadelphia Church Road headed North. This was to be a day spent at the Balls Creek Camp grounds in Catawba County. Balls Creek Camp was one of the weeklong revival meetings that took place back then. In addition to preaching these meetings became a social gathering and place to go.
(Mrs. Lena Huggins Smith was a sister to the long time preacher and respected citizen, Rev. Hubert Hussing and minister at the Dallas Baptist Church for many years and baptized me in 1948.)
Well, on with the story. Philadelphia Church Road runs North out of Dallas and across the South Fork of the Catawba River before intersecting with Salem Church Road.... 11 miles in distance. As you approach these connecting roads, to the North you can see Salem Baptist Church. But looking to your left, back towards High Shoals, you can see almost a mile down the road. Today, Dad could see another buggy approaching going in the same direction as he- and Miss Lena; leaving a trail of dust like a cavalry troop. As they got closer, he recognized his black long legged trotter. It was Mr. Abernathy and his wife. Dad put his new horse in over-drive, for the one reaching the intersection first would have "clean..air” all the way to Catawba county. He made the Salem Church Road only a step or two before Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy. Mr. Abernathy’s buggy was so close; the horse’s head was over the tailgate of Dad’s buggy. Now the story goes it stayed this way all the way to Balls Creek, a distance of another seventeen miles.
In 1933, Dad married Mom, Virginia Quinn and raised three children. He went to work for the N. C. Highway Department transferring to the N. C. Prison department in 1940. The transfer was a result of his appointment to Superintendent of the Dallas Prison Unit, where he worked until retiring in 1959.
His love for horses remained all his life. Dad owned horses to within a few years of his death in 1986.
NANCY AND I MOVED TO THE DENVER AREA IN 1991. I WAS WORKING AT TAR HEEL FORD, IN
CHARLOTTE. WE BOTH WERE DRIVING USED VEHICLES THAT REQUIRED MAINTENANCE ON A
REGULAR BASIS. FOR SOME YEARS THE SHELL STATION IN STANLEY HAD DONE THE WORK ON
OUR CARS AND I WANTED TO CONTINUE WITH THEM. SOMETIMES NANCY WOULD KEEP THE
CAR THAT WAS TO BE WORKED ON AND SHE WOULD TAKE IT DOWN TO STANLEY AND HAVE
THE WORK COMPLETED. BUT THIS MEANT THAT SHE HAD TO WAIT AROUND FOR SHE HAD NO
WAY BACK HOME.
IN A CONVERSATION AT LUNCH ONE DAY I WAS COMPLAINING ABOUT THE SITUATION AND
AN ANSWER TO MY PROBLEM APPEARED. THERE WAS A LADY WORKING AT TAR HEEL,
MRS. CHARLOTTE MESSER, LIVING IN STANLEY, DRIVING TO TAR HEEL TO WORK EVERYDAY,
SUGGESTED TO ME THAT IF I WANTED I COULD TAKE MY CAR TO THE SHELL STATION AND
RIDE INTO WORK WITH HER, IF I SO DESIRED. IT DIDN’T TAKE ME LONG TO ACCEPT THIS NEW
ARRANGEMENT. CHARLOTTE WAS VERY GENEROUS IN HER OFFER, AND IT WOULD ONLY BE
FOR MAYBE EIGHT TO TEN TIMES A YEAR. NOW A WORD OR TWO ABOUT CHARLOTTE. WHEN
I CALLED HER A ‘LADY’ THE TERM WAS NOT USED LIGHTLY. CHARLOTTE IS “STRAIGHT-LACE.”
PROBABLY NEVER BEEN IN A LIQUOR STORE IN HER LIFE AND NO PLAN TO GO TO ONE UNTIL I
CAME ALONG.
CHARLOTTE AND I HAD MADE SEVERAL TRIPS BACK AND FORTH, STANLEY TO CHARLOTTE
AND BACK TO STANLEY WHEN ONE AFTERNOON ON THE WAY TO STANLEY I ASK CHARLOTTE
TO STOP AT THE ABC STORE ON BROOKSHIRE BOULEVARD. I HAD MADE THIS STOP ON MORE
THAN ONE OCCASION, AND WAS MORE THAN FAMILIAR WITH THE ‘ENTER’ AND ‘EXIT’ AND
THE PARKING SPACES. IT WOULD BE CORRECT TO SAY THAT I GAVE CHARLOTTE INSTRUC-
TIONS ON WHERE TO TURN IN AND WHERE TO PARK. CHARLOTTE FOLLOWED MY GUIDANCE
AND IN NO TIME I WAS GETTING OUT OF HER CAR. AS I STEPPED OUT INTO THE PARKING LOT
FROM ACROSS THE YARD ON THE SIDEWALK CAME “CAT-CALLS” AND SEVERAL QUESTIONS.
THERE WERE TWO GROUPS OF BLACK PEOPLE GATHERED ON THE SIDEWALK AND MOST OF
THEM KNEW ME BY NAME BECAUSE OF WHERE I WORKED. BROOKSHIRE BOULEVARD GOES
RIGHT THROUGH THE BLACK COMMUNITY AT THIS POINT AND THERE ARE TWO DUMP TRUCK
COMPANIES LOCATED NEAR BY. (F. T. WILLIAMS TRUCKING AND HAZEL HOLMES TRUCKING)
AT SOME POINT IN TIME MOST OF THESE PEOPLE HAD BEEN AT TAR HEEL FORD TO HAVE
THEIR TRUCK WORKED ON, SO OF COURSE THEY NEW WHO I WAS, AND OUT COMES THE
QUESTIONS. “MR. FRIDAY, BUY ME A PINT?” “MR. FRIDAY, WE DON’T DRINK THAT BROWN
STUFF.” “MR. FRIDAY, WHO’S THAT YOU RIDING WITH?” ETC, ETC.
I CONTINUE ON INTO THE STORE AND MAKE MY PURCHASE OF TURKEY 101 AND WHEN I GET
OUTSIDE IT STARTS ALL OVER AGAIN. I WAVE AND ACKNOWLEDGE THAT I HEAR THEM AND
AWAY WE GO.
TO THE BEST OF MY RECOLLECTION NOT A WORD WAS SAID ABOUT WHAT CHARLOTTE JUST
WITNESSED. WE MADE OUR WAY ON TO STANLEY AND SHE DROPPED ME OFF AT THE SHELL
STATION AS WE HAD DONE BEFORE.
MY SCHEDULE KEPT ME OUT OF THE OFFICE AND OUT OF TOWN FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF
DAYS. BUT, THREE DAYS LATER I DID RETURN AND SOMETIME NEAR LUNCH THE OWNER OF
TAR HEEL FORD, MR. GERALD (JERRY) CLAPP WALKED UP TO MY DESK AND AFTER A FEW
PLEASANTRIES SAID TO ME, ‘I HEAR YOU BEEN TO THE LIQUOR STORE.’ NOW JERRY WAS
NOT QUESTIONING MY PURCHASE OR WHAT I HAD DONE, HE WAS JUST MAKING ME AWARE
THAT HE NEW WE HAD STOPPED AT THE ABC STORE.
BLESS CHARLOTTE’S HEART. HER STOP AT THE ABC STORE HAD BEEN A FIRST AND HERE’S
WHAT SHE SAW, FROM COMMENTS BY JERRY CLAPP: ‘YOU HAVE YOUR OWN PARKING SPACE’
‘YOU KNOW EVERYBODY THERE AND THEY KNOW YOU.’
WELL, YOU KNOW FROM HER OBSERVATION POINT, SHE’S RIGHT. THAT’S WHAT SHE SAW.
CHARLOTTE HAS BEEN AND REMAINS MY DEAR FRIEND FOR MANY YEARS. I’VE WATCHED HER
CHILDREN GO THROUGH LOCAL SCHOOLS AND COLLEGE AND BEGIN THEIR CAREERS. SHE’S
DONE A GREAT JOB BOTH AT HOME AND AT WORK.
MAY GOD CONTINUE TO BLESS SUCH A FINE LADY.
MEALTIME AT THE DALLAS PRISON CAMP STARTED WITH THE CLANGING
OF WHAT SOUNDED LIKE A BELL. THE COOK OR HIS HELPER WOULD
TAKE A LARGE SLEDGE HAMMER AND STRIKE IT AGAINST A SUSPENDED
TRUCK WHEEL. THIS MADE A SOUND THAT COULD BE HEARD FOR MILES.
A SMALL WOODEN FRAME WAS BUILT, LIKE YOU WOULD BUILD
ONE FOR A SWING, AND A LARGE CHAIN WAS ATTACHED AND THEN A
TRUCK WHEEL WAS BOLTED TO THE CHAIN. THIS RINGING OF THE
DINNER BELL TOOK PLACE EVERYDAY AT 5:00 AM, 12:00 PM AND
6:00 PM FROM 1940 THUR. 1959 THAT I’M AWARE OF. THOSE WERE
THE YEARS MY DAD WAS THE SUPERINTENDENT OF THE PRISON AT
DALLAS. NEIGHBORS SET THERE CLOCK BY THIS SOUND, SOME OF
THE PEOPLE WHO COULD HEAR THE RINGING THOUGHT IT WAS AN
ALARM SET OFF BECAUSE THERE WAS TROUBLE AT THE CAMP. THEY
LATER LEARNED IT’S MEANING. AS A YOUNGSTER I WAS ALLOWED TO
‘RING’ THE BELL WHEN I BECAME ABLE TO HANDLE THE HAMMER.
THERE WAS ANOTHER SOUND THAT STARTED AS SOON AS THE HAMMER
STRUCK THE FIRST BLOW. ABOUT A HUNDRED YARDS FROM THE BELL
WAS THE DOG LOT FOR THE CAMP BLOODHOUNDS. THESE 75 - 100 LB
DOGS WOULD BEGIN A CHORUS OF MOURNFUL HOWLS THAT COULD BE
HEARD ABOUT AS FAR A WAY AS THE BELL. THE SOUND OF THE HOWL-
ING DOGS WOULD LAST AS LONG AS SOMEONE STRUCK THE WHEEL, IT
WAS AS REGULAR AS THE MEAL ITSELF. THIS NOISE BECAME AS REG-
ULAR TO THE COMMUNITY AS IF IT WERE THE TRAIN WHISTLE OR A
FACTORY WHISTLE.
I SAY ALL THIS, TO TELL YOU ABOUT MY DAD’S BLOODHOUNDS.
WHEN YOU HAVE MEN LOCKED UP, ONE OR TWO OF THEM ARE ALWAYS
THINKING OF A WAY TO ESCAPE, AND SOME OF THEM DO. WHEN HE
DOES GET A WAY YOU HAVE TO FIND HIM. WHEN A PRISONER ESCAPES
HE HAS BROKEN THE LAW AND MUST BE CAUGHT AND TRIED FOR ESCA-
PING. MOST OF THE TIME HE IS CONVICTED AND GIVEN ADDITIONAL
TIME IN PRISON.
IN THE FORTIES AND FIFTIES PRISONERS WORKED ON THE STATE
ROADS IN SQUADS. EIGHT TO TEN MEN IN A SQUAD, GUARDED BY A
MAN CARRYING A RIFLE OR SHOTGUN AND A PISTOL. SOMETIMES A
PRISONER HAD ALL HE COULD TAKE, SO HE LOOKED FOR A CHANCE TO
GET AWAY, RUNOFF. SOMETIMES HE MADE IT AND SOMETIMES HE GOT
SHOT. WORKING ON THE ROADS CREATED MANY GOOD CHANCES, ONE OF
THE JOBS WAS TO CUT HIGHWAY RIGHT AWAY. THIS PUT THE PRISONER
RIGHT AGAINST THE WOODS AND ONE STEP AND HE WAS OUT OF
SIGHT. IT WAS THE CHANCE HE HAD TO TAKE. HE MIGHT BE FACING
25 TO 30 YEARS AT THIS JOB, HERE IS HIS CHANCE. GO.
WHEN THIS ESCAPE DID HAPPEN, AND IT DID ON A REGULAR BASIS,
THERE HAD TO BE AN ORGANIZED MAN HUNT PUT INTO MOTION.
BLOODHOUNDS WERE PART OF THAT ORGANIZATION, A MAIN PART.
IF IT WERE NOT FOR THE DOG NO ONE WOULD HAVE KNOWN WHAT DIRE-
CTION THE ESCAPEE TOOK AFTER THE FIRST FEW STEPS.
DAD BRED, TRAINED AND USED BLOODHOUNDS AS PART OF HIS JOB.
AT ALL TIMES HE HAD TWO OR THREE ‘FINISHED’ DOGS READY TO
GO ON A HUNT. THERE WERE OTHER DOGS IN TRAINING, AND MOST OF
THE TIME THERE WAS A GROUP OF PUPPIES BEING RAISED.
BLOODHOUNDS (ST HUBERT HOUND) (CHIEN DE SAINT HUBERT) GO
BACK OVER 1000 YEARS. THE BREED WAS PERFECTED, NOT CREATED,
BY MONKS OF ST. HUBERT IN BELGIUM.
THE ANIMAL HAS AN INCREDIBLE LEVEL OF STAMINA AND A NOSE TO
INVESTIGATE ANY INTERESTING SCENT. IT IS NOT EASY TO OBED-
IENCE TRAIN. IT IS BOTH A TRACKER AND COMPANION.
THE NAME ‘BLOODHOUND’ COMES FROM CAREFUL BREEDING IN THE
MIDDLE AGES, RESULTING IN IT BEING KNOWN BY THE 14TH CENTURY
AS THE ‘BLOODED-HOUND,’ A HOUND OF NOBLE ANCESTRY.
MY DAD DIDN’T KNOW ALL THAT ABOUT HIS DOGS. HE DID KNOW
THAT HE HAD A GOOD BLOOD LINE AND HE WORKED THE DOGS UNTIL
HE COULD DEPEND ON KNOWING WHAT THEY WERE DOING WAS RIGHT.
AT LEAST TWICE A WEEK A TRUSTEE WOULD BE TAKEN TO A POINT
AND PUT OUT WITH INSTRUCTIONS TO RETURN TO CAMP. LEAVING A
TRAIL, A SCENT, FOR THE DOG THAT WAS TO BE PUT ON THE TRAIL
IN ABOUT AN HOUR, FOR TRAINING.
BOTH MALE AND FEMALE BLOODHOUNDS MAKE GOOD TRACKERS, BUT
MANY TIMES THE FEMALE COULD NOT BE DEPENDED ON BECAUSE SHE
MIGHT BE IN SEASON OR IF SHE WERE A GOOD DOG THEN YOU MIGHT
WANT TO USE HER FOR BREEDING.
DAD SEEMED TO LEAN TOWARD USING A MALE DOG AS HIS FRONTLINE
DEPENDABLE READY TO GO DOG. AND OVER THE YEARS HE HAD
SEVERAL GREAT ONES. NAMES LIKE OLD JOE I AND LATER OLD JOE
II, MOSES, ONE OF HIS FIRST REAL GOOD DOGS. JACK WAS ANOTHER
ONE OF HIS EARLY REAL GOOD DOGS. JACK WAS AN EXCELLENT STUD
DOG. SIRING SOME PUPPIES THAT WERE SENT TO PRISON CAMPS ALL
OVER PIEDMONT NORTH CAROLINA. QUEEN WAS A GOOD BREEDING
BITCH AND OLD JOE IT'S MOTHER.
AN ACCIDENT HAPPENED TO OLD JOE II IN THE WINTER OF 1954.
BLOODHOUNDS ARE PUT ON A TRAIL WHERE SOMEONE KNOWS FOR SURE
THAT THAT IS THE PLACE WHERE THE PRISONER WAS LAST SEEN AND
THE CHASE BEGINS. THE OFFICERS ON THE SCENE DRIVE AROUND
AND AROUND THAT AREA WHERE THE PRISONER WAS LAST SEEN. THEY
DO THIS UNTIL HE IS FLUSHED OUT TO BE CAUGHT OR HE IS ABLE
TO CROSS THE ROAD INTO ANOTHER AREA. IF HE DOES CROSS IT IS
INDICATED BY THE DOG HANDLER PLACING A PINE TOP IN THE ROAD
POINTING IN THE DIRECTION THE PRISONER IS TRAVELING.
SOMETIMES ANOTHER DOG IS PUT ON THE TRACK AHEAD OF THE WORK-
ING DOG. THIS HAPPENED TO DAD’S DOG OLD JOE II.
OLD JOE II HAD BEEN RUNNING A TRACK FOR SEVERAL HOURS, PUSH-
ING THE PRISONER PRETTY GOOD. OLD JOE II WAS GETTING CLOSE
ENOUGH THAT THE PRISONER TOOK A CHANCE AND CROSSED THE ROAD
AT AN UN-COVERED PLACE AND WAS SPOTTED. THIS PROMPTED THE
CAPTAIN IN CHARGE TO PUT A NEW DOG ON THIS FRESH TRACK.
WHEN OLD JOE II AND THE DOG HANDLER ARRIVED AT THE ROAD
WHERE THE NEW DOG HAD TAKEN OVER THE DOG HANDLER AND OLD JOE
WERE PICKED-UP. THEY WERE GIVEN A RIDE IN A STATE HIGHWAY
DEPARTMENT SINGLE AXLE DUMP TRUCK. THIS WAS NOT NORMAL AND
IF THE HANDLER HAD NOT BEEN NEW THE RIDE WOULD HAVE BEEN
REFUSED. NEVER-THE-LESS THE HANDLER AND OLD JOE WERE PLACED UP
IN THE BACK OF THIS OPEN DUMP TRUCK. THE RIDE WAS ROUGH AND
NOISY. THE DOG BECAME AGITATED AND JUMPED OVER THE SIDE.
THE HANDLER HAD A GRIP ON THE LEASH AND CONTINUED TO HOLD
ON, SWINGING THE DOG UNDER THE REAR WHEELS OF THE DUMP
TRUCK. OLD JOE II WAS NOT KILLED INSTANTLY BUT WAS MASHED
UP SO BAD THAT HE DIED A WHILE LATER AT THE VET.
IN ALL PROBABILITY, HAD HE TURNED THE DOG LOOSE, HE WOULD
HAVE LANDED ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, MAYBE UN-HURT.
NEEDLESS FOR ME TO SAY, THERE WERE SOME SAD TIMES AROUND
HOME AND THE PRISON CAMP FOR A LONG TIME TO COME.
DURING THIS PERIOD DAD HAD SOME MIGHTY GOOD DOGS AND HE
ALSO HAD SOME MIGHTY GOOD DOG HANDLERS. BACK THEN THEY
WERE CALLED DOG BOYS.
ONE OF THE BEST EVER WAS A YOUNG MAN FROM EAST GASTONIA,
JACK WALLS, I DON’T REMEMBER WHY HE WAS SERVING TIME.
OTHER NAMES LIKE JOE TSCHEILER FROM GASTONIA, HENRY CARIBOU
FORM NORTH DAKOTA, AND A MAN CALLED ‘NUB,’ HIS LEFT ARM HAD
BEEN CUT OFF ABOUT 3 INCHES BELOW THE ELBOW BUT HE WAS GOOD.
AT TIMES A GUARD WOULD RUN WITH THE DOG BOY BECAUSE OF THE
DANGER THAT MIGHT BE INVOLVED. IN SOME INSTANCES A GUARD
WORKED AS THE DOG BOY. ONE OF THOSE GUARDS IN THE LATE
FIFTIES WAS AL BRADSHAW, WHO LIVES IN GASTONIA. AL IS NOW
76 YEARS OLD. AL WAS THE BACKUP GUARD ON A CHASE HERE IN
LINCOLN COUNTY ONE TIME WHEN THE PRISONER WAS ARMED AND
AS THE DOG PUSHED THE HUNT, THE PRISONER STOPED AND HID
HIMSELF BEHIND SOME BUSHES, AS AL AND THE DOG HANDLER
APPROACHED HE STEPPED OUT AND FIRED, HITTING JOE GODLEY,
THE DOG BOY FROM THE PRISON CAMP IN CLEVELAND COUNTY. HIS
NAME WAS JOE GODLEY, A GUARD WORKING THE DOG. JOE WAS HIT
IN THE SIDE, NOT LIFE THREATENING. AL HAD BORROWED A SHOT-
GUN FROM A NORTH CAROLINA HIGHWAY PATROL OFFICER WHEN THE
CHASE BEGAN. AS THE PRISONER FIRED ON JOE GODLEY AL STEPPED
TO THE SIDE AND UNLOADED HIS WEAPON, A FIVE SHOT 12 GAUGE
PUMP INTO THE PRISONER. KILLING HIM INSTANTLY.
THIS VIOLENCE WAS UNUSUAL, PRISONERS ESCAPED AND WERE CAP-
TURED ALMOST DAILY WITHOUT ANYONE GETTING HURT. BUT THIS
TIME WAS DIFFERENT. IT TOOK A WHILE FOR JOE GODLEY, HIS
BOSS, MR. CLYDE POSTON, ALBERT BRADSHAW AND MY DAD TO GET
OVER THIS LOSS OF LIFE. I SPOKE WITH AL BRADSHAW SEVERAL
WEEKS AGO, HE REMEMBERS THE EVENTS OF THAT DAY TO THE DE-
TAIL.
BLOODHOUNDS ARE STILL USED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT AGENCIES THROUGHOUT
THE COUNTRY. I’LL BET THAT SOME OF THEM, EVEN FIFTY
YEARS LATER CAN BE TRACED BACK TO DOGS LIKE JACK OR OLD JOE
II.
JOE FRIDAY
APRIL 2006
One Saturday Night Eugene Patterson got hold of some shaving lotion, rubbing alcohol
or whisky, drank it and went crazy.
Eugene Patterson was a prisoner at the Dallas Prison Camp where my father,
(J. Fred Friday Sr.) was superintendent, Patterson was serving time for armed robbery,
having been sentenced from Cleveland County North Carolina, he was about half-
way through a seven to ten year hitch when he almost dug a hole he couldn’t
get out of.
Weekends at the camp were manned by a skeleton crew of guards and either Dad or
Mr. Crocker had to be there at all times. Mr. Crocker was the Assistant Superintendent,
and not being married made his home at the camp. Mr. A. B. (Bub) Crocker had a
sister in the area and visited with she and her husband when he rarely left his duties.
Mr. Crocker and Dad shared a room in the guard’s quarters, which also served as
the office for the camp. Dad spent some nights at the camp, especially when he might
be up late for some camp problem. (The building is still is use today, 2005)
A skeleton crew would consist of two night guards, Mr. Crocker or Dad and generally
there were one or two other guards who might be hanging around. Tonight that was
the case. Mr. Crocker, Mr. Jenkins and Mr. Collins, night guards and Mr. Griffin,
a regular guard who had no other place to be on this night.
Four guards to look after 120 prisoners. But this is not unusual, the inmates are locked
up and under control. This was also a medium security prison, meaning there were
not a lot of hard-cases to be concerned with. Except for one or two trustees and the
cook all the inmates are under lock-down.
The only responsibility a guard had was to keep watch, make his rounds and watch TV.
The prisoners were housed in two large dormitory like cell blocks with two rows of
double deck bunk beds on each side. The cell area was really open, to the point that a
guard from his vantage point could see everything that happened. There was no privacy
even in the latrine. A guard could see you complete your business when you shit, shaved
or bathed. There were about a dozen showers and about a dozen commodes.
Each one of these two large cells was heated with a large pot-bellied stove
placed in the middle, trying to evenly divide the heat. On a cold February night, 30 feet
away from that stove and it would be freezing. Fuel for these stoves was coal, black
dusty, dirty coal. Each day a large coal box placed near the stove had to be refilled from
a large coal pile out on the back compound, by the trustee in charge of keeping the cell
block cleaned. Everyone was assigned something to do.
Light fixtures were hooded light bulbs, dropped from a high ceiling to a reasonable
distance above the floor. There was no protective screen over the lights.
Placed on a high stand in the far end of each cell was a television. A twenty-five inch
black and white, placed high so inmates could sit on their bunks and see.
If entering the front door the West cell (right) housed trustees and other prisoners
classified as ‘B’ grade. The East cell (left) housed prisoners ‘B’ and ‘C’ grade.
The East cell was watched closer and this is where Mr. Patterson was housed. The East
Cell was also referred to as the gun side and the door was never opened without a second
Guard present.
I believe that this was in the winter of 1953; I would have turned seventeen this past
October. I was still in High School, drove a school bus, played varsity basketball and
dated on a regular basis. I spent many nights at the camp, sleeping in Dad’s bed. This
was one of those nights. I returned from a date about ten thirty and knew that something
was wrong when I got out of my car. There were two sounds that usually came from the
cellblock area. A low hum or silence. Tonight there could be heard only one voice and
breaking glass. Mr. Patterson was walking around in the East cell hollering and cussing
in a loud voice, stopping ever so often to throw a piece of coal at anything. He had been
doing a good job so far. He had managed to break out most of the lights, the glass in
several of the outside windows and bits and pieces of coal was strewn everywhere. It
has always been a question for me that 49 other prisoners stood by and watched as
He destroyed their living quarters and no one made a move to stop him.
I quickly made my way to the cellblock arriving just in time to see Patterson put a piece
of coal thru the television screen. In the cell block lobby was Mr.’s. Crocker, Jenkins,
Collins and Griffin taking in the nasty scene.
I don’t think there was any discussion about whether or not to go in and stop this mess,
just some concern about what the other prisoners might do when someone entered. The
other inmates, at least some of them seemed to be enjoying this show. Mr. Crocker had
put in place the back-up guards at the door as was called for and was preparing to open
the cell door when I ask, “Whose going with You?” He looked around expecting to hear
from one of his other guards. When no one volunteered, I said, “I’ll go with you.”
Mr. Crocker probably stood five feet eight and never weighted more than 145 pounds
in his life. But he was a gutsy man and new he had a job to do and he was the leader.
There is no hesitation; there was no time for it. The cell block door is opened and we
enter. The place got so quite I could hear myself breathing. There’s over a hundred
men in this building and in his life. But he was a gutsy man and new he had a job to do
and he was the leader.
There was no hesitation; there was no time for it. The cellblock door is opened and we
enter. The place got so quite I could hear myself breathing. There’s over a hundred men
in this building and it is quiet as a funeral home. When the door closed behind us,
Patterson realized someone was in and coming to stop his foolishness. There was some
indecision on his part; you could see it in his eyes. He thought about giving up; just say
it’s over. But that lasted only for a second; he looked around for some defensive weapon
and not finding one moved toward the far end. Just as he past another inmate’s bunk he
spotted a Pepsi bottle, grabbed it and struck it across the foot of a steel bunk. Now he had
a weapon. Had Patterson stopped his destruction when we entered the cell, he probably would
have been punished with a week or ten days in the hole, but by trying to assault Mr. Crocker,
a prison official, he was tried in court and given additional time for his crime.
With the bottom of the Pepsi bottle broken off and a good grip around the neck he came from
behind the coal box in a rush toward Mr. Crocker. No one knows what he was thinking but
apparently he put me out of his mind as being insignificant, for he was not paying any attention
to me. With all of his attention directed toward Mr. Crocker it left an opening for me. With all
the speed I could muster I stepped to my left in between the two of them, planted my left foot
and brought up my long right leg striking Patterson in the face with my foot. He went down and
all the fight went out of him. Almost like it had been rehearsed, Mr. Crocker and I grabbed
Patterson by the shirt and began dragging him to the cell door which was quickly opened and
in no time we had drug him out to the back yard were Mr. Griffin and Mr. Collins took over.
In January 2001, when I started putting on paper some of the things I remember about the things
that happened in my youth, this story was one of the first to come to mind. For over five years
now, I’ve kept from writing this one because it sounds almost like I’m bragging about my part
in the story.
Last summer (2005), I shared my story about the ‘PRISON FARM’ with Mr. Crocker’s niece,
Ms. Margaret Neil Ratchford. She told me how much she enjoyed that story and ask when I was
going to write the story about the time I saved Bub’s life.
Margaret was most complimentary and encouraging about the Prison Farm story. Her commentsled me to believe that I should go ahead and write the story. I have now put it on paper and am
dedicating it to the memory of one fine old gentleman. Mr. A. B. (Bub) Crocker, a man who quietly
did his job and seldom got credit for the work he did.
PLACES I'VE BEEN AND SIGHTS I'VE SEEN
STANDING ON THE SIDE OF HIGHWAY 12 SOUTH OF SALVO, WATCHING
THE NIGHT CREEP IN FROM THE EAST AND A BEAUTIFUL SUN SEU1NG
IN THE WEST OVER PAMLICO SOUND. FROM SEA TO SOUND ONLY A
FEW HUNDERED YARDS WIDE AT THIS POINT. FALL 1987
REACHING THE TOP OF SALUDA MOUNTAIN, ON INTERSTATE 26, TO FIND
SNOW AND ICE AND BEAUTY LIKE I’VE NEVER SEEN BEFORE. BREATH
TAKING. WINTER 1976
THE GEORGIA COAST, FROM THE BACK SEAT OF A T-33 AT 20,000 FEET.
AND OFF TO THE RIGHT FOUR F-86 SABER JETS, PERCHED AS IF ON A
ROOST. READY TO MAKE A RUN AND FIRE AT THE TOW TARGET WE ARE
PULLING. SUMMER 1958
HAROLD COLE SR., OWNER AND CEO OF TRUXMORE INDUSTRIES, MY
EMPLOYER, ASK NANCY AND I TO COME AND STAY WITH HE AND MRS.
COLE AT THEIR HOME ON NEW SMYRNA BEACH DURING RACE WEEK.
MR. COLE WANTED OUR HELP, LOOKING AFTER AND TAKING CARE OF
FRIENDS AND CUSTOMERS OF TRUXMORE.
IT WAS A GREAT WEEK, ENTERTAINMENT, FOOD, AND FRIENDS.
THIS WAS THE RACE THAT DONNIE ALLISON AND CALE YARBOROUGH
WRECKED ON THE LAST LAP WHILE LEADIN THE RACE. THEN PROCEEDED
TO GET OUT OF THEIR CARS AND FIGHT. ALL OF THE NORTHEAST WAS
SOCKED IN BY A BLIZZARD, EVERYONE WAS AT HOME WATCHING ON
TV. THIS WAS THE FIRST RACE TV COVERED LIVE, START TO FINISH.
ON FRIDAY NIGHT, THERE WAS A BIG DINER, MR. AND MRS. COLE,
JUNIE AND MRS. DUNLEVY, (OWNER, CAR 90), JAMES A. MICHENER
AND HIS DATE. (JAMES MICHERNER WROTE HAWAII, THE COVENANT,
CENTIENNIAL, CHESAPEAKE AND 23 OTHER BOOKS.)
THE AMBASSODOR FROM EGYPT WAS THERE WITH HIS WIFE. (THE
ONLY ENGLISH HE KNEW WAS "CBS NEWS") MR. AND MRS. BILL FRANCE
SR.,, SEVERAL MEMBER OF THE RACE TEAM, AND NANCY AND I.
TRUXMORE INDUSTRIES HAD SOLD ONE HUNDRED GARBAGE PACKERS
TO EGYPT THE YEAR BEFORE AND MR. COLE HAD INVITED THE
AMBASSODOR TO BE HIS GUEST AT THE RACE.
ON SUNDAY (RACE DAY) WE HAD ALL THE GUESTS iN PLACE BY TEN
O’CLOCK AND NANCY AND I FOUND US A PLACE TO WATCH THE RACE
ON THE BACK ROW IN MR. FRANCES’S VIP SUITE. AT SOME POINT AFTER
THE RACE STARTED I GOT UP TO GET ME ANOTHER DRINK AND WHEN I
RETURNED GEORGE BUSH WAS IN MY SEAT TALKING TO NANCY.
NEEDLESS TO SAY I STOOD UP AND WATCHED THE RACE.
FEBRUARY 1978.
