“What’s your hurry?” my grandmother, Hattie Dorman, asked every day when our visit was about to end. Page 1.
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A proud, old family. Chapter 2.
Dr. and Mrs. George Washington Dorman and Amos, c. 1885.
Myrtle’s front-porch culture and its characters. Chapter 3.
“Naturally, most of my childhood memories of a porch concern the one attached to my family’s house. It was a big porch, made of heart pine (so Daddy told me) that had been there a hundred years and would last forever. ” Page 38. This is the house in December 2012, beautifully restored by its new owners. The porch swing is exactly as it was during my Myrtle years. My bedroom is off the porch on the right; Jim’s at the left.
Continue reading Myrtle’s front-porch culture and its characters. Chapter 3.
Boyhood adventures … and misadventures. Chapter 4.
Steve Caldwell and I sat for school pictures in the fall of 1962, at the height of our friendship. Here he is:
Here I am on the same day:
Continue reading Boyhood adventures … and misadventures. Chapter 4.
Myrtle playgrounds. Chapter 5.
“I knew only one Myrtle playground that was actually planned.” Page 95.
My Church. Chapter 6.
Much of my early life revolved around the Myrtle Methodist Church which, but for the sign out front, looked then just as it did in this 2015 photograph.
Myrtle Basketball. Chapter 7.
“My earliest memories of Myrtle’s basketball team are from times when my parents took me as a babe in arms to games in the old, frame gymnasium.” Page 127.
“The 1965 Mirror has a photograph of the recently built elementary building taken from the south, and the future gym, still under construction, can be seen soaring above it in the background.” Page 132.
Myrtle’s three coaches: Hoyt Wood, Lloyd White and Harvey Childers.
First Grade. Chapter 8.
“In my 1961 Mirror, beside her picture, is the inscription, ‘Lots of love, Mrs. Faye Rayburn.'” Page 160.
Second Grade. Chapter 8.
Third Grade. Chapter 8.
Miss Angie Randle: “I will say that, of all the teachers I have ever had, no one looked like a teacher any more than Miss Angie. With her white hair and lacy dress, and a countenance at once pleasant and inviting no nonsense, her picture belongs in a museum of Americana.” Page 166.
