SPLIT AT THE ROOT
In the first fifteen chapters, of Leah Napolin’s novel, you were introduced to Temple Beaupre’s grandfather Eugenie who narrates certain chapters of this story, and, via Temple’s memory, you met her and Fannie, the family’s housekeeper. You encountered Laurette Limley, Florida Penrose, and Mavis True: three women “who shoot birds.” And, you learned about Temple’s mother and grandmother: two women who definitely did NOT shoot birds. You shared a “sleep-over” at Sally Ann’s and heard how the Stotes said good-bye to their outhouse, and were witness to a real “Family Feud.” Temple has let you in on some further family secrets and how she began to move within the South’s “traditional values” and these dark secrets that lead to her encounter with Slade Fontenot and a notification of a family loss and the funeral. Eugene lets you in on more of his surprising history, while Temple confronts an unpleasant reality
In chapters 16 and 17, both LuEsther and Temple are “clubbed” with secretive family background and white sheets.
Chapter Sixteen
THE TAINT
"The Louisville Journal announces the death of that admirable and gifted poetess, Mrs. Amelia B. Welby. She was the sweetest songstress that ever warbled the voice of Southern poesy. Lovers of that pure and genuine art will mourn her departure.”
- Zenobia Bugle, September 3, 1850
LU-ESTHER
As the stepmother of an only child, Parmelia Meacham was determined to ensure my social success in life. In order to do so, however, she was compelled to take liberties with the truth. If Mam hadn't lied, the reasoning went, if she hadn't falsified documents, I would never have gotten into the local chapter of the D.A.R. I can’t tell you how tragic that would’ve been. Not.
Many years later I managed to get hold of a copy of the membership application, and while Parmelia never admitted it, I know for a fact that my birth father was pruned from the family tree. Tullys, Skinners, Bufords, Meachams and Fontenots only. No Engelsons. First prize for Arboreal Editing! Honorable mention for Fiction!
However, hiding the truth almost guarantees that sooner or later it’ll be found. Parmelia also belonged to the Amelia B. Welby Club in Zenobia, a select group of ladies who met once a month to discuss literary and other topics of interest. Membership in the Club was limited, so someone had to leave or die before her place got filled, usually by a close relative. The name of the candidate was always put up by the member herself, but only a secret vote of the entire membership could decide yea or nay.
Even though she put up my name to take her place, when Miss Parmelia passed away I got passed over in favor of a distant cousin who'd only just moved into town. Even though nothing, but nothing was ever said, it seems they all knew about me, even though I didn’t—-about my bloodline, that unfortunate taint. It was a slap in the face I never forgot. Or forgave.
Chapter Seventeen
DIRTY LAUNDRY
TEMPLE
I am knee-deep in layers of family history. As I peel them away like the layers of an onion, what’s beginning to come to light stinks. Why should I fear the truth? Bring it on, I say.
Fannie, who was employed by our family for many years, told me that her mother, Ilantha, who'd worked for Aunt Mabel Skinner, once plucked a nasty surprise out of the laundry basket. The water in the tub was hot and sudsy, Ilantha’s laundry soap held at the ready. Was it a shirt? An item of underclothing? No, it was a pointy hood made out of sheeting material, same as a pillowcase but with two holes scissored out for eyes. Belonging to Aunt Mabel's husband, John Skinner.
So here’s yet another secret. Something a southern gentleman and good ol’ boy might not wish to speak about openly. I cringe to think what it must have been like for Ilantha to find that thing.
"Good God, Fannie," I said, "What did your mother do?"
Fannie shrugged. "Scrubbed it, I expect. An ironed it."
Around that same time, which was the 1920's and 30's, the Klan marched in Vicksburg, right down the main street. People stood on the sidewalk and watched. Including Abe Sugarman, the owner of a drygoods store. "I sold'm those sheets," Abe confided with a wink to his friend, my Uncle Erskine. "If I'd known what they was gonna use 'em for, I would've charged double!"
The long, often shameful history of race relations in the South has been well-documented. About Jews in southern history not much has been said, but it, too, is a complicated story that defies easy explanation.
As part of my search for the truth, I was talking on the telephone one day not long ago to a sweet old lady named Miss Bea, now deceased, who was related to the Wing sisters and knew my family from way back. Miss Bea was then in a nursing home in Fayette but still had her wits about her. Lu-Esther urged me to call her. She might know things.
"Oh, yes indeed," she said, "I remember your great-Uncle, John Skinner. A fine gentleman. And J.C. Tully, your great-grandpop. Also a fine upstanding gentleman. A Ku Klucker. But, don'tcha know? All of 'em were."
Again, I was thunderstruck. But then I reminded myself that this was the same Miss Bea who was overheard by Edgar Lee remarking to Parmelia that it was a shame Hitler didn't finish the job and burn ‘em all up in the ovens.
So it was that gradually I began to figure out what happened 75 years ago between the Tullys and the Engelsons. The established power of tradition and family versus the gentle interloper who listened to Verdi and grew dahlias and dared to marry one of their own. &
Kaddish is added to Temple’s vocabulary in Chapter 18.
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MEANDERINGS “Ouroboric”
The subject of guns and trust in QUIDDITY 9 came to mind when I came across a word I had never seen before ouroboric. I couldn’t infer its meaning from the context, so I looked it up and was informed that one of its three primary definitions was self-consuming which was accompanied by the above dust-in-my- eye image that immediately drew me back to that “Meanderings” column’s basic stats.
2003: 200 million guns, 2% were AR-15
2023: 400 million guns, 25% are AR-15
approx. 30% of citizens own guns
approx: 6% of citizens own 2/3 of the guns.
When polled, only 3% of citizens say they hold gun ownership to be of their core beliefs.
These last two groups are "super owners" who have a disproportionate influence on our laws and gun policies. Dictatorship by the minority.
*** BUT, keep in mind: 80-85% of U.S. citizens are in favor of some form of expanded gun controls. (Source: American Carnage: Shattering the Myths That Fuel Gun Violence by Fred Guttenberg, Thomas Gabor)
With theses figures in mind, let’s assume that the U.S. passes a law that has been actually proposed by a current legislator which would allow anyone to own a gun, wherein everybody could own and carry a gun. I can’t avoid thinking of a gun that has its barrel pointed at its own shooter or the infamous “Mexican” standoff.
This is not an abstract concept for me. What I haven’t shared with you is a primary reason why I, personally, have this fear of a readily available gun. It’s both simple and complex. You see, I am quite aware that I have been in at least three situations during my 20s and early 30s where I KNOW I would have probably used a gun if one were immediately available, and at this juncture in my life, that realization terrifies me.
The first was fear and anger in reaction to being spat upon by a middle-aged woman swinging a bat during a civil rights march. Being honest with myself today, I probably would not have thought twice about shooting her if I had a gun. The second was what I considered self-defense for both myself and my girlfriend. After a day of exploration and fishing around the Georgia Sea Islands, led by a young, muscled guide, we were deposited back at the bare-boned fishermen’s cabin we had rented for the night. We had a tough time convincing our guide to leave, but when he did, I felt a bit nervous and had trouble falling asleep on the single slab hard bed that was in the bedroom. I was certain he was coming back. And, sure enough he did – quietly with just one squeak of the shredded screen door. The single light in the other room was enough to outline his approach to the bed on which my partner and I were lying in our sleeping bags. Almost paralyzed with fear, I kept a vice-grip on the opened, Swiss Army knife I had by my side. I could hear his breathing, see the haloed shape of his head, and feel his hand as it moved up the quilted down of the sleeping bag. When he reached my hand, I pushed the knife into his arm with every ounce of strength, will and fear I could muster. As he swore and stumbled back, my scream awakened my partner and she, too, screamed. I’m sure our screams and his own blood propelled him out the door and into his car. Figuring he would be back, and probably not alone, we threw our stuff into the car and fled as fast as possible down that rutted dirt road, with three sets of headlights bouncing behind us, to the relative safety of the Georgia interstate. If I had a gun that night, I am certain I would have used it. The last instance was one created in a fit of rage and jealousy over a petty, domestic quarrel that I will not detail here. But, suffice it that I admit to realizing that if a gun were next to me, I could have reflexively used it without a moment’s thought.
Notice the common denominator here: If a gun were available… A gun was NOT available, and three people were not killed in these moments of anger, fear, self-defense, rage. Three people continued their everyday lives. And, I, hopefully, continued to grow a bit wiser and more patient in the consideration of alternatives when dealing with anger, or fear, or mistrust.
If the future in the United States holds universal gun ownership, will we soon consume ourselves with the very weapon that we thought would protect us? Do we really want to live this way?
We CAN change this. We can because we can vote. VOTE. VOTE FOR LEADERS WHO ARE COMMITTED TO VOTING FOR EXPANDED GUN CONTROL LEGISLATION.
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HYPATHIA’S BOOKROOM
A New Kind of Library
QUIDDITY, is building its own library of books that are of importance to us--intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, ethically, etc.-- books that we would definitely rescue from a trash pile. We’re calling it Hypathia's Bookroom after the chief librarian of the ancient library of Alexandria. Tell us the title, author, category, and why this book is important to you. Questions you might consider include: Would you read this book again? Would you gift it to someone (who, why)? What note would you write on the cover page?
On the shelves so far: Immense Journey, Loren Eiseley; Lomax, Dr. Seuss; Charlotte’s Web, E.B.White; Rubyfruit Jungle, Rita Mae Brown; The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald; Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte; My Glorious Brother, Howard Fast; Dessa Rose, Sherley A. Williams; I Know why the Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou; How the Word is Passed: A Reckoning with the History of Slavery Across America, Clint Smith. My Own Country, Dr. Abraham Verghese; Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place, Terry Tempest Williams; Simple Passion, Anni Ernaux; A Man's Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl; Fahrenheit 451; Ray Bradbury; 1984, George Orwell; A Wrinkle in Time, Madelaine L’Engle; The Magician, Colm Toibin; The Snow Leopard, Peter Matthiessen; The Canterbury Tales, Chaucer; One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
QUIDDITY unabashedly advocates placing Clifford, the Big Red Dog by Norman Bridwell on Hypathia’s Children’s Book Shelf in response to the following story out of Oklahoma:
“Oklahoma Gov. Kevin Stitt rejects funding for PBS because Clifford the dog ‘indoctrinates’ kids PBS "overly sexualizes our kids." Tuesday, May 2, 2023
Gov. Kevin Stitt (R) is trying to strip funding from the state’s PBS TV station because it acknowledges LGBTQ+ people. <https://ktul.com/news/local/gov-stitt-axes-pbs-funding-over-shows-with-lgbt-content>
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Barbara,
Thank you. We completely agree with your analysis that there are absolutely too many guns around us. European countries do not seem to have this problem. We know the answer!
Leslie