Walking with My Sunshine

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© 2012 by Rufus Franklin Stephenson. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 12/06/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9385-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9384-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9386-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012922574

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Walking With My Sunshine

Rufus

My Childhood In Vicksburg

Meeting My Sunshine

Changing My Image And A New Life In L.A.

Entering The Work Force And A Vacation Back To Mississippi

My New Job And More Fun In L.A.

Our Trip To Mexico

Happy Days And Wedding Plans

Greetings From Uncle Sam

Our First Weekend Trip

Our First Holiday

Chivalry Party

Our First Apartment

Happy Birthday, Sunshine

High Tea

Our First House

Our Second House

First Baby And First Pet

Early Memories

Murder Next Door

First Dinner Guests

Our Second Daughter

New Adventures

Life And Times In Yermo

A Giant Mississippi Watermelon

Sold To The Highest Bidder

My Old Friend And Landlord

Close Call In A Boxcar

Escape To Los Angeles

Joyce’s Wish Come True

Hard Life In Yermo

Winter In Yermo

Good Pay But No Place To Spend It

Fun Times In The Desert

A Sad Day In Yermo

Our Third Daughter

Escape To Salt Lake City

Kansas City Here We Come

A New Start In Colorado

A Surprise Layoff And The Birth Of Our

Fourth Daughter, Kimberly Jo

Our First New Home In Colorado

Following A Dream

Our Second New Home In Colorado

Concept Six Winter Vacation

Kids Growing Up And Leaving Home

A Wish Come True

A Man At Twelve

Mom And Dad’s First Meeting

To Hell And Back

Getting To Know Dad And Celia

Losing Kennie

The Dream

Together Again

A California Father’s Day

From California To Mississippi

A Vacation With Mom And Dad

A Reunion

A Last Goodbye

Memories Of The Past And Wishes For The Future

Family Travelers

Feeding The Children

My First Milk Shake

My First Bike

My First Car

One Half Fried Chicken

My First Cowboy Boots

My Monte Carlo

The Night Whistler

Vittles

The Ghost Of Booger Dan

Hadacol

Booze

Prentiss

Weekend Warrior

A Hard Row To Hoe

Bowie

A Fish Story

Call Out The Name Of Jesus

Jesus Loves Us

I Called Out To Jesus

Jesus Still Loves You

Jesus Is Calling

Jesus

The Last Bells Are Ringing

Earthly War, Heavenly Peace

Mom, Please Don’t Say Goodbye

Forever Love

I Was

Looking Back

Acknowledgements

To my wife of fifty-four years and my only sunshine girl, I thank you for loving me and giving birth to our four daughters. Thank you for standing by me throughout my forty-three-year railroad career and complaining very few times about the crazy hours I had to work. Thank you for encouraging me to write this book and for helping me keep our lifetime of memories alive. You have been a great wife and mother and I’ve always loved you.

To my editor, Catherine Traffis, I thank you for guiding me through this project. You have become a friend to Joyce and me and without your help I couldn’t have completed it. Joyce and I believe you were sent by God to help me fulfill a dream!

To my mother, Louise Elizabeth Stephenson and my dad, James Lovell Stephenson, I thank you for giving me life. And to my sister and three brothers, I thank you for being my family. You were always there for me and for each other! Thanks mom, for all your sacrifices, for teaching me right from wrong, and setting an example for the life I have always tried to live.

To my four daughters, thirteen grandkids and five great-grandkids, I wrote this book with the hope that you will never forget—and by that I don’t mean just the stories about my childhood years. Rather, I want you to be able to reminisce about our life as a family, always. You are all loved!

I thank Joyce’s mom and dad for sharing their daughter with me and allowing her to become my wife at such a young age. To her brothers, sisters and other family members, I thank you for accepting me into your family and never giving me a reason not to love you.

To my grandparents on both sides, along with my aunts, uncles, cousins and friends, I thank you for helping me make it through my early childhood years. I always loved you and I am very grateful for everything you did.

Thank you to my stepdad, his sons and daughters, and all his family, for being a part of my life. We became a family in 1951 when times were hard, but we survived and made many good memories while I learned how to be a good sharecrop cotton farmer.

I thank my classmates at the little country school of Clem, as well as my teachers, who I thank for my education, even though I never passed with flying colors.

A special thanks to my older brother, James Kennie, who passed away in 1968 at the age of 31! You and I were always close but you left our family far too soon. I’ve missed you very much, Kennie. I hope someday your two daughters, your grandkids and great-grandkids will have a chance to read this book.

Last of all I give thanks to God for bringing our family back together after mom and dad’s separation of almost twenty-five years. Without you, Lord, none of this would have been possible.

Miracles do happen. Our family knows this firsthand. God is in control and he still answers prayers and changes lives. I ask God to forgive all our sins as we live out our lives here on earth. The most important thing is for us to be prepared when the time comes to meet our savior. May he continue to bless each of us, and may we all someday have eternal life in heaven.

Introduction

This book is a continuation of my first book, From Dixieland to Frisco Bay. Like that book, I have primarily written this for my family, but I would be pleased if others found it interesting as well. I wanted to share some early childhood memories that I made as a kid growing up in Mississippi, and during my early years of railroading in California. It was a long road from the sharecrop cotton fields of Jeff Davis County, Mississippi to San Francisco, and then down to East Los Angeles. In January of 1957 I met my dad again for the first time since he had walked away from our family. The hardships forced on mom and we kids had a drastic effect on the way we lived and grew up. Despite that, we overcame our obstacles and went on to make good lives for ourselves.

I met my beautiful wife, Joyce, on August 31st, 1958 and after knowing her less than three months, we were married in Maywood, California on November 24th, 1958. Although we only had the approval of a few family members—on both sides—we never let anyone stop us from making a happy life for ourselves. There were a few stumbling blocks along the way, but we made a great life together with our four daughters.

What I write about in this book takes place in Mississippi, Alabama, California, Utah, Missouri, and ultimately, Colorado, where we finally settled down and raised our family.

We continued living in Arvada, Colorado until I retired in May of 2000 after a career of forty-three years with the railroad. We sold our home in August and moved to Reeds Spring, Missouri and bought our dream home on 8.7 acres. We lived on Roark Ridge, one of the highest mountaintops in Missouri, twelve miles north and west of Branson. We lived there until Joyce’s health forced us to return to Colorado. Unfortunately, she had pneumonia three times during our five winters there, along with allergic reactions to much of the vegetation. She also developed asthma and after suffering all that time, her doctor told us the best thing we could do was to move to a drier climate.

We sold our home and left Missouri on the 21st day of January 2005, and arrived back in Colorado on the 22nd, which was Joyce’s 62nd birthday. We bought a townhome in Wheat Ridge and continued to enjoy our retirement. Joyce’s health problems all but went away, with only a few allergy problems that were easily controlled. We settled down in our townhome on the lake and have enjoyed being back in Colorado. We still visit the Branson area and the Ozark Mountains will always have a special place in our hearts.

I walk three miles a day, six days a week, and I get together with my railroad friends once a month. Joyce and I try to stay active and we find that retirement gets better each year. We give thanks to God for our life. Without him, there would be nothing.

I hope those who read my book can relate in some way to the early years of my life. And to my kids and grandkids, I hope this gives you some information about the life and times of your mom, dad and grandparents. Check it out and see what you think. May God bless everyone who reads it.

WALKING WITH MY SUNSHINE

We met when she was just fifteen

And never gave much thought

That she was five years younger;

The girl I always sought.

So tiny and just five foot four

With hair down to her waist,

The angel I had waited for

I found in fifty-eight.

That August summer day we met,

By train, she traveled west

From Arvada to Los Angeles,

The place she loved the best!

I’d met her dad six months before,

Her picture, I did see,

And right away I fell in love

With the girl God promised me.

Her picture at just 14 years

Was a sight I’d never seen.

Of all the girls I ever saw,

She was my teenaged dream.

Her image burned into my mind

And never went away.

I longed to see my sunshine girl

When she moved to east L.A.!

Not knowing when the time would come

She never left my mind.

The days and weeks would slowly pass

While waiting for sunshine!

Each week I worked my railroad job,

The days would go by slow.

When news of her arrival came,

Deep down, it thrilled my soul!

Knowing when her train arrived,

In my mind the date was stamped,

But right away I realized,

I would be away at camp.

My duty in the National Guard

Made me spend time away.

In August, I would not be home:

Our meeting was delayed.

Away at camp when she arrived

On the 25th of August,

With nothing more that I could do

But keep my faith and trust!

Thinking she was all alone

Without me by her side,

I longed to see my sunshine girl

But now my hands were tied.

That last long week of boot camp

Seemed like there was no end,

But on the day I left for home

My heart was on the mend.

We lined up in a convoy

And soon were on our way,

Plans were made to be back home

That last hot August day!

We pulled into the armory

And soon we were dismissed.

I climbed into my Oldsmobile

And squealed the tires a bit.

I broke the law a dozen times,

Like a bullet I was gone,

Speeding every chance I got

While making my way home!

In twenty minutes I was parked

And hurried up the stairs,

My car, I had yet to unload

But first I said a prayer.

With my suitcase, I climbed the stairs

Then opened up the door,

I walked into my living room

And set it on the floor.

Then I slowly walked across the hall

And knocked at her front door.

Her mother answered right away!

My heart beat fast once more.

I asked if Joyce was busy.

Her reply, "She’s not at home,

You missed her just by minutes

But she won’t be gone too long!"

I asked her where she might have gone,

She said, Down to the store.

It was three blocks south on Kinzie Street.

My wait was not much more.

I hurried down a flight of stairs,

And jumped into my car.

My brother asked to tag along

Since it was not too far!

I slowly drove in search of her

And soon was at the store.

Then I saw her standing there

Ten feet from my car door!

I quickly rolled the window down

Then smiled and said hello.

She looked just like I dreamed she would

And her face was all aglow.

A natural look with no makeup,

A smile across her face,

The prettiest girl I’d ever seen

Again my heart would race!

Until that day, we’d never met

But my love for her was strong,

I prayed to God that she’d like me

Since I’d waited for so long!

She knew I was away at camp,

My brother had spoken of me.

But he had eyes for Eleanor,

Her sister-in-law to be!

With Eleanor, she’d walked that day

Down to the corner store.

I asked if they would like a ride.

She opened up the door.

We made our way back to the house

Then sat outside and talked.

They asked if we would come inside

And me, I never balked.

We went right in and met her folks

Then talked and laughed again.

Before we left, we made a date

For the local gage drive-in!

Her mother gave permission

For both of them to go.

Again I prayed she liked me

But really did not know.

I hurried home and then got dressed

And waited patiently.

In front, I sat behind the wheel

Still hoping she’d pick me!

Soon they walked out on the porch

And made their way downstairs.

My sunshine got in front with me.

God had answered all my prayers.

At the gage drive-in, we soon arrived,

We talked and watched one show,

Then we went and ate at Stan’s.

Soon it was time to go.

Home by eleven, she had to be,

Our evening went by fast.

I surely was in love with her,

This date was not our last.

We went out on the weekends

And also Wednesday night.

From that day on, I knew she cared

And the choice she made was right.

In eighty-six days, we said our vows

And then were man and wife,

Never apart from that first date;

True love had touched our life!

Falling in love was meant to be,

We smiled and laughed together,

Life for us was perfect then.

We pledged our love forever!

My sunshine, she has always been

And never left my side.

I dreamed of her for eight long months

Before she was my bride!

In Maywood, we married in fifty-eight

On the 24th of November.

God gave answers to my prayers

And a love I’ll always remember!

Together we’ve walked for 54 years

With bumps along the way,

But anger never kept us apart.

Not for one single day.

I pray for many more good years

But continue life as planned,

And walk together side by side

While holding my sunshine’s hand!

For my wife Joyce!

You are, and have always been, my only sunshine.

I love you very much.

Your husband, Rufus

Rufus

On May 30th, 1938, I was born to Louise Elizabeth and James Lovell Stephenson. My mama named me Rufus Franklin after her daddy, who was my Grandpa Rufus Franklin Conrad. When I was a little boy, Grandma called me Little Rufus if she wanted my attention when Grandpa and I were together; when she needed him, she called out for Big Rufus.

I liked my name and was told many times the story of a man named Rufus whose father, Simon, was ordered by Roman soldiers to carry the cross for Jesus when he stumbled and fell on his way to Calvary. Simon carried the cross for Jesus to where he would later be crucified. The Bible refers to him as being a black man, but also a Jew and from Cyrene, which is now Libya. Simon also had another son named Alexander; he and his family later became Christians after the crucifixion.

I was always proud to share my name with Grandpa, but as I got older and taught the crucifixion story of Jesus, it again made me particularly proud that we both shared a name with that association.

During my childhood years, many kids teased me and often a poem was recited to me by both young and old. It was: Rufus Rastus Johnson Brown, what you gonna do when the rent comes around? There was much more to the poem but this short verse seemed to say enough to get a laugh or two. I always tried to ignore it and not let anyone know it bothered me. It was hard to keep a straight face sometimes, because it really did hurt my feelings. I’m sure it had been a practice in the past but never did I ask Grandpa if it happened to him when he was a young boy.

Rufus is a Latin name meaning red hair and I’ve known only one other person, other than my grandfather, who shared my name. He did have red hair and was older than me. We attended Culkin Academy just outside Vicksburg. He and his family also attended the same Baptist church as we did in Waltersville. His name was Rufus Hataway. Rufus and his family were close friends of ours and we lived about two miles apart in the Vicksburg Military Battlefield Park, where thousands of soldiers fought and died in the Civil War.

Memorial Day was a widely celebrated holiday and it fell on my birthday each year. In the South it was celebrated by very few white people during the years I grew up but was always celebrated in a big way by the colored folks. Most whites referred to it as Nigger Day and that was another reason for many to make fun of me.

Throughout my life many people have made fun of my name, but I got used to it over the years and began taking it in stride. But in the summer of 1958, when the time was getting close for me to meet my wife-to-be, my thoughts changed and for the first time ever, I thought instead of going by Rufus maybe I would start using Frank, or Franklin, which was my middle name. I was twenty years old and had not yet met Joyce but I had seen her picture that year in the spring. We had never spoken on the phone or been in contact with each other in any way until August 31st, 1958.

She didn’t know I existed and I really didn’t know anything about her other than her age and what she looked like from the picture I had seen. I did keep up with Joyce and her family through her dad and knew when she would be arriving in California. I wanted very much for her to like me when we met. I wanted to make a good impression because I was already in love with her and had been for nearly six months—it was my secret that I hadn’t shared with anyone. Since I was very concerned about what she may think of meeting a person named Rufus, I felt very strongly about changing my name and had given it much thought.

I was in the National Guard and had been away on basic training at Camp Roberts, California for two weeks when she arrived; by the time we met, her dad had already told her that my name was Rufus. There wasn’t much I could do now but use my real name when I introduced myself.

The first day I saw her, she was more beautiful than the picture I had seen. She weighed 93 pounds and had long black curly hair, with a beautiful smile and ivory white teeth.

We hit it off on our first date and I knew right away there was no reason for me to be concerned about what she thought of going out with a boy named Rufus. After all it could have been much worse if I had been a boy named Sue!

Our first date went great so I pushed those silly thoughts out of my mind. By the time the evening had ended, we had already begun making plans to see each other again. I could hardly wait to see her each day and missed her every minute we were apart.

Since Joyce and her family lived across the hall from me, we saw each other every day. When permission was given for her to go out on dates, we took advantage of it and always had a great time. At first she could only date on Friday and Saturday nights and had to be home by midnight. This arrangement was okay with us and we made sure we obeyed the rules.

After knowing each other just over two weeks, I took Joyce to the Los Angeles County Fair in Pasadena and spent the entire day riding all the rides and sampling all the food. I bought or won for her everything under the sun. Later in the afternoon while walking past a little jewelry shop we went inside to check it out. Our browsing lasted for quite some time. When we left I had bought her several gifts. I also bought myself a bracelet and together we thought Frank was a good name to use, so I had my name engraved on it. Now I was Frank for the rest of the day, but before a week had passed, I took it off. We decided it would be silly for me to use another name after living as Rufus all my life.

I put it away and never wore it again but was now much more proud of my name. The only girl I had ever loved liked me just the way I was, and was perfectly satisfied to be dating a boy named Rufus.

Many years have come and gone and I’ve survived very well with my old biblical name. Those encounters with folks along the way continued over the years but I’ve always written it off as the ignorance of people who enjoyed making jokes about me. I guess some folks thought the name Rufus should belong only to a black man, or maybe a dog.

Once while working on the railroad, and having accumulated enough seniority to get a better position, I placed a bid on a special job. To my surprise, I was awarded it in two weeks. On my first day on the job, while having lunch with two fellow employees, one of them spoke up and said to me that when the word was out that the write-up job had been awarded to a man named Rufus, they had expected me to be—and these were his exact words—a big black nigger. This left a lasting impression on me and right away I knew what type of people I was dealing with. From that day on, I had very little to do with them. Eventually, I found out that racism was alive and well just about everywhere I lived after leaving Mississippi.

Another time, a few months before my retirement, I made contact with several real estate companies in Branson, Missouri. After making many calls and requesting information on real estate, magazines were sent each month to my home in Colorado. My wife and I checked all the listings and after a few weeks we found a special home that caught our eye. I called the listing agent and told him I wanted to see the property when we visited Branson in the spring. We exchanged information and I told the agent I would call back the week before arriving in Branson to make arrangements to see the property.

When vacation time came, I called and was happy to hear the home was still on the market. I made an attempt to make an appointment, but after speaking a few minutes to him he said he had another customer on the line and for me to call back later that afternoon. I did try calling again but couldn’t reach him. I called several more times after that, but that was the last time I ever spoke to him; he was always busy or out of the office. I just gave up and found another agent to deal with. At first I thought maybe he really was busy so I brushed it off. After moving to Missouri, we began working with another agent. We found our dream home in Branson and moved in on September 25th 2000!

We got to know many folks in the area, but one day it dawned on me that I had been ignored for a reason. I later learned that this agent didn’t want to deal with me because he thought I was black. I guess my name didn’t sound right but that was okay because everything worked out for the best.

There really weren’t any black families living in Branson when we moved there but the company I hired to help move our furniture from a local storage shed in Hollister filled me in on what it was like for colored families to live in Branson. He told me a story of how they were discouraged to live there and how the KKK was very active all around the area. I later learned that a chapter of the Klan was 37 miles south of Branson in Harrison, Arkansas.

After hearing this I understood why I had been given the brush off. My wife and I lived in Branson five years and rarely ever saw a black family, except when we attended the Charlie Pride Show or the Platters, although there were times when we saw black families at Silver Dollar City amusement park. We moved away from Branson because of Joyce’s health and went back to Colorado in 2005. We enjoyed our time there but found that very little change was ever made.

I lived in the South until I was eighteen years old and always knew in my heart and soul that bad things had always happened to colored folks and very little was ever done to correct the problems. Many hated the colored folks but there were some who didn’t feel that way. The problem had always been bad but it was getting much more out of control when I left Mississippi in January of 1957.

I was never taught to discriminate against anyone and since I grew up in poverty like so many others, I never looked at anyone with thoughts of putting them down or putting myself above them. In today’s world, most everyone we lived around then would be labeled poor white trash since so many of us, black and white, lived in such dire poverty. This way of life made it impossible to ever dig ourselves out, but we were just good people who grew up in bad times.

My Grandpa Conrad never looked down on anyone no matter what their color. He was a good man and I always wanted to be just like him. I’ve tried very hard to live up to his good name.

The colored families loved the Conrad family and on one occasion a granddaughter’s life was saved by a colored neighbor. My Aunt Betty Beard’s two-year-old daughter was playing with a toy whistle and accidently sucked it down her throat. She began choking and since the whistle was lodged and wouldn’t come out, Aunt Betty took Betty Ann outside and began screaming for Lizzie next door. Right away, she came running over to the house. Lizzie made an effort to remove the object with her fingers but Betty Ann continued choking so she picked her up by the legs and began shaking her up and down until the whistle came out. All three of them were happy, but crying, and Aunt Betty couldn’t thank Lizzie enough for saving her daughter’s life. Today, and nearly sixty years later, Betty Ann tells the story often that she’s alive because of the action a neighbor took to save her life. Lizzie owned a small grocery store a few yards south of Grandpa’s house.

Grandpa and Grandma lived in the same house most of their lives but in 1953, Grandma passed away. The Conrad family was very much loved by the colored folks, and the pastor of their little Baptist church around the road came over to ask Grandpa if it would be okay for his congregation to attend Miss Lela’s funeral. Grandpa felt honored to know they loved Grandma and the family so much and said it surely would be okay, everyone was welcome to attend. In those days it was out of the ordinary in the South to see this happen, but the little church congregation attended and Grandma’s funeral was one of the largest ever conducted in Vicksburg. The Waltersville Missionary Baptist church experienced its largest funeral attendance ever, with the colored folks filling all the remaining seats in the back. The front porch of that little church was also full and those who couldn’t find a seat stood at the back of the church throughout the service. Many had to stand out in front of the church on the lawn. There were more colored folks than white in all, and when all the cars lined up to drive out slowly to the cemetery, the colored folks followed behind. It was known to be the largest funeral procession ever held in Vicksburg by the Fisher Funeral Home.

Grandpa was a poor, hard-working sawmill man like so many other whites and blacks, and worked many years with all his white and black friends. They were good to everyone and willing to give a helping hand to all their friends when needed.

In 1970, when I was married with three daughters and living in California, we went to Vicksburg on vacation and while we were there, we visited Lizzie. It turns out this would be just before she died. She was way up in years and still remembered me. She had nothing but good to say about the Conrad family. She was a great lady and neighbor, just like so many others in the neighborhood.

Just five years before the near death experience of my cousin Betty Ann, her mother, my Aunt Betty, was just 18 years old. She was being taught to drive by my uncle, Aubrey Williams. It was after church one Sunday afternoon and she was behind the wheel of a 1936 Ford four-door sedan. The weather was beautiful and her driving lesson was going great. While driving on a gravel road through the Vicksburg Military Park, she saw an approaching car at a distance and began to move over onto the right shoulder to