Papaw - My Dad's Dad

William Homer Adams (my grandfather) was born Nov. 14, 1919 in Madison, Indiana. He passed away on Feb. 13, 2001 and is buried in Section 1, Row G, Grave #52 at Veterans Cemetery, Madion, IN.

I found a little something today - a communication Dad wrote when compiling some geneaology information. He was sharing a story about my Papaw ...below is all I have from it.

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He beat my teacher severely. So severe was his attack on the teacher that the man almost lost both his eyes. The teacher probably deserved some punishment and the school board promised dad that the teacher would be punished, but that wasn't good enough for dad. The teacher was young and had just got out of the Marine Corp. He had already been reprimanded for using his fists on one or two of the boys at school. It happened that he punched me in the mouth requiring stitches. The papers and lots of folks said it was to break up a fracas. That's the media for you. They never did get the facts. I had disturbed the teacher and he was irritated. He turned and threw the punch not knowing who the target of his ire was. The county prosecutor, John Ready O'Conner, refused to file assault and battery charges. It was his opinion the school board should handle the issue. This was not good enough for dad who was continuously goaded by Uncle Elmer to "break the man's arms and legs". As it was, Grandpa Harry Adams was the chairman of the opposing political party in Jefferson County and Dad, et. al. figured that is why O'Conner would not file assault and battery.

So, after an unsuccessful visit to the state attorney general's office and Judge Harry Nichol's office, dad met the teacher at the school parking lot and did the deed. There was only one witness, the janitor. Mr. Danner testified, "dad knocked him down, kicked him, picked him up, leaned him up against the car, knocked him down again, kicked him some more, put him in the car, and drove away with him". A school bus was blocking the exit from the parking lot and of course dad threatened the driver by displaying the beaten bloody teacher. I am surprised this didn't traumatize all the children on that bus. Dad then took the teacher to the hospital, dropped him on the pavement, then stopped at the sheriff's office and talked to Sheriff Jug Raisor before coming home. A short time later the Sheriff arrived at our house, and arrested dad, who promptly posted bond. Trial was about a couple months later. It took quite a while to seat a jury since several of the prospective male jurors agreed with dad's actions. That was certainly a back woods lessen in life for me. I had to quickly mature during that time in my life.

The end result, Dad was fined $200.00 . I suffered throughout the rest of my school days. Oh, how the teachers hated me and did all they could to make my school life miserable. Dad steadfastly refused to allow me to change schools for reasons he never explained. I suspect now the reason he didn't approve was that in order for me to move to another school, I would have to go to and from the new school from my grandparents (his in-laws) house. He couldn't stand the thought. When I would report to him how I was continuously "embarrassed" by the teachers he'd just chuckle as if it was something to laugh about. He did seem content knowing that my grades went down and stayed there. It was about this time in my life I started to hate him.

In retrospect, I now realize that he had a problem with his manhood. He was wrong of course, but if he did not take the action he did, he would lose face with his brother Elmer. Elmer was his mentor, where Ernie was not. Ernie was soft spoken, methodical, and thought things through. This was not in the cards for Elmer or dad. The night before dad beat that teacher; he and Elmer were up late drinking coffee at our house and planning how the deed should be done. I remember hearing Elmer tell dad that the two of them should take the teacher out to some secluded area, tie him to a tree with a log chain, and break his legs and arms with a wrecking bar.

Enough of that since it is one of the gloomiest part of my life. Knowing full well why not to follow my father's example I have tried hard to not let those inherited emotions control me and those around me. It was hard when I was younger, and I struggled against those urges to be a staunch disciplinarian, but now I know all of my seven children love me and are proud of me. Dad and I never, ever exchanged admissions of love for each other until much later in his life. Read on. My children and I are always expressing our love for each other as that is the way I feel it should be.

To add some perspective to the story I will add that I dropped out of school and joined the Army. The Army became my new family because I didn't know what "fair" was until then. Previously, everything had been one sided. I passed my GED a full year before my contemporaries from Madison Central High School graduated. I advanced rapidly in the enlisted ranks, got a commission and worked hard for my money. I like to say I gave Uncle Sam his dollar's worth. I retired with twenty plus years, seven months continuous active duty.

I got the third highest award for gallantry, the silver star; the second highest for valor for something I did during my first tour in Vietnam, and two purple hearts for wounds. Dad wanted to bask in the glory. I turned away from him, then he wanted to apologize for all the years of turmoil, I refused to listen, and again I turned away from him. When it became apparent that he could not do for himself, and was becoming a liability to mom I joined my siblings in putting him in the nursing home. Even there he would fight with the staff punching nurses, and he was often tied to his bed. His mind kept going down hill and about one and half years before he died, I visited him knowing that since I lived in Hawaii I would never see him again. I had mixed emotions not knowing what to say or do. Finally, I made it simple and leaned over, kissed his forehead, and told him I loved him. He said nothing as if he was stunned, staring at the wall. I promptly left his room knowing full well that the old man heard me and understood very well what I had said. Whether or not he knew why I said it, I will never know. Hell, I don't even know why and to think of it stirs up too much emotion. Frankly, I don't think he deserved the time I spent in the room with him. Conclusion: Life is a s***t sandwich and every now and then one must take a bite. I took mine.. . . several times.

Now, back to happier thoughts. The day has just begun here. I am late getting my breakfast. My son Daniel has left for school (7th grade) and I am left with my own designs for the remainder of the day. Cooking is one of my favorite hobbies and while nosing around in the freezer I ran across an Australian Leg of Lamb. I am going to thaw it out and roast it, then serve it with orange marmalade and all the fixin's. The problem is there are only three of us and none of us are too keen on eating left overs.

Aloha,
Bill