Stories: Who We Have Lost


Story aboutBud Evans

My father worked at GE for most of his adult life. The radio never worked in the car he drove to the plant. So, he drove with his right hand, and serenaded himself, playing a harmonica, which he held in his left hand. I hadn’t known he did this until he drove me to school one day when I was in ninth grade (we usually always walked) because I had sprained my ankle at practice. I remember being amazed as he played “Monday, Monday” as he drove – I never would have imagined my father knew who the Mommas & the Papas were, let alone that he’d play that song. Now, in my late sixties, I play “Monday, Monday” on my guitar. I’ve been re-appreciating music from my high school years. It helps me connect to that time and to my father. I did not get to say goodbye to him.

Sunday Spells

Story aboutUncle Joe

Thinking about my Uncle Joe, I remember when I would visit his family in Horse Cave, KY. We would drive down every Sunday for what seemed like many years. We would all “sit a spell” and chat. I recall we sat on their front porch and drank sweet tea and they would remark that a “strange” car had passed by. It was the topic of the day if a car passed that they did not recognize. There was always a couple there, Harland & Naomi. We were somehow distantly related to Harland. Naomi would ask me, constantly, if I had a boyfriend, though I was only 10 or 11 years old at the time. They probably met at a mixer when they were young. When it is hot out, and I drink sweet tea, I always have this scene in my head: Uncle Joe and Aunt Mary’s porch, on warm Sunday afternoons.

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