Some of my earliest memories are of Carnes, a wide spot in the road in south Forrest County, just west of Cozy Corners, north of Stump Texas, and east of Pistol Ridge. While Carnes, which was settled in 1905, originally named Helena, and once possessing a railroad station, two sawmills, a post office, and a school, is still in nominal existence, the other colorfully named locations are now known only to locals.
If you were able to locate them and plot their location on a map, and then connect the dots, you would have a rough outline of the boundaries of the geographic area in which I spent the first six years of my life. Even as a child, I knew this area well because it also marked the limits of my mama’s Watkins Products route. Each week, I would accompany her as she drove the muddy, unpaved roads, going from farm to farm, selling door to door, and bringing her customers such necessities as Watkins Liniment, vanilla extract, baking spices, medicated ointments and salves, soap powders and cleaners, and household remedies for colds, cuts, and bruises. Samples of all these products were carried in a large black suitcase, which I could hardly pick up. It was a profitable enterprise for her, but even as early as the mid-1950s, the Watkins business model was falling victim to changes in its rural constituency brought about by less isolation, more access to automobiles, better roads, supermarkets, and mail order.
Just as my family’s fortunes were limited by geographic boundaries and then adversely affected by tightening boundaries of economic opportunity, it strikes me that, all our lives, from the cradle to the grave, many of us are either the victim or the beneficiary of boundaries that are often beyond our control. We are all born into a world of boundaries. Some are visible, like fences, or walls across the border, while we often can’t see others which are just as powerful. Let’s look at a few from my own experience and point of view for, as we shall see, boundaries can be both a burden and a blueprint for our lives.
I can’t over emphasize the impact of geographic boundaries, which often carry subtle but real consequences. For example, once I got out into the world on my own, I quickly realized that being a native of Mississippi stereotyped me in many peoples’ eyes. Many seemed to think that I was no more than a drawling country bumpkin who had recently fallen off a turnip truck. In fact, my unchosen nickname on my earliest ship was “Reb,” and no one expected much out of me. I took advantage of this false façade and, on my own terms, slowly proved myself worthy `0of their respect.
Today, where you were or were not born is a matter of national conversation. Being born a few hundred yards on either side of the Rio Grande can make all the difference in one’s life. When I was a student at New Mexico State University in Las Cruces, I had a history professor who kept referring to the border states of the Gadsden Purchase (1853 - New Mexico and Arizona) as “Occupied Mexico.” In fact, he said this was the way it was taught in Mexican high schools. As many who have studied American immigration history would agree, no sooner than one ethnic group established itself in our country, they sought to tighten the boundaries and enact policies that would exclude others.
Another boundary that I’ve confronted all my life is doubts about my intellectual ability. Although I was regularly told in high school that my grades were not reflective of my capabilities, I continued to sit at the back of the class and stare out the window while most of my classmates tried to excel in their work. I knew more than I let on, but I attributed my poor grades to a character flaw. It wasn’t until I got in the Navy that I worked and studied as hard as I was able.
When my second ship, an old-World War II-era destroyer escort, was undergoing an overhaul at a shipyard in Charlestown, a suburb of Boston, I would ride the trolly every Sunday that I wasn’t working and meet with a youth group before services at Tremont Temple Baptist Church, an old main-line church just across the Boston Common from Harvard College. I wish I could say that religious zeal brought me there, but it wouldn’t be true. I came to listen to the conversations carried on by the group, mostly Harvard students. As I heard them talk, it was like being in the middle of an intellectual debate, and I resolved to learn how to express myself as they did. After the first few sessions, I left feeling dumb. Eventually, though, I realized that I had something they didn’t yet possess – street smarts. I knew them like the rosary.
Alas, age happens, and “The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on, and all your tears, your piety, nor your wit can lure it back or capture half a line.” Now, I worry more about the boundary of dementia setting in than learning big words. Years ago, knowing that, statistically, one out of three people my age will contact some form of dementia, I went to a great local psychiatrist, was tested to establish a base line, and have gone back annually to check my mental acumen. I had this year’s test last week. The first part of the test, with a certified mental health professional, is easy: “What day is it?” “Where are you?” “How many fingers am I holding up?” Then, after you have been lulled into a false sense of security, the hard stuff starts: “Spell ‘world’ backwards.” “Count down from 100 as far as you can by subtracting 7.” “Tell me all the words you can think of that start with “X” in one minute,” etc. Then, you move to the computer for about 45 minutes, identifying and matching abstract shapes, calculating numbers, and essentially playing a mental video game. When I had my follow-up interview with the psychiatrist a few days ago, being a man of few words, he simply said, “You are smarter than you were last year.” I’ve been pondering just exactly what he meant.
Another boundary that 49.7 percent of the world’s population must overcome is that of gender, and I’m thinking of women’s rights. According to the latest statistics, men slightly outnumber women worldwide and, in too many places, patriarchy still rules. Using the word, “overcome,” reminds me of Dr. Martin Luther King’s famous quote, which he attributed to an old slave preacher: “Lord, we ain’t what we oughta be; We ain’t what we wanna be; We ain’t what we gonna be; But thank God, we ain’t what we was!” Although I haven’t “lived the life” and can only comment on what I have seen and experienced, I believe that things are changing for the better. For example, and I’ll admit it’s just a minor victory for women’s equality, I saw on television last night where, for the first time in history, a woman umpired a major league baseball game. Of course, she had her “bona fides,” and was overqualified, having already called over 1200 games in the minor leagues.
Perhaps more significant for me was being in the Navy when women sailors were finally allowed on ships. Although U. S. naval policy allowed women on non-combat ships such as tenders, and support vessels in 1978, it wasn’t until 1993 that the “Combat Exclusion Act” was repealed, and women were finally allowed on aircraft carriers in 1994. Many of my shipmates, who really were not prejudiced, but had bought into the ancient idea that women were “bad luck” on ships, thought it was the end of the world. They were surprised to learn that women proved to be better sailors than many men they knew. Late in my career, I was the supervisor of at least ten women chaplains on ships in the far Pacific, and I found them to be outstanding professionals.
Although there are obviously many other boundaries that limit our development, expression, and success, such as social class, economic, race, legal and political, psychological, and spiritual, let’s consider one that affects everyone to some extent – education. Let’s call it the “Big E.” Of course, sailors will think immediately of the aircraft carrier, Dwight D. Eisenhower (CVN-69), one of the eleven nuclear-powdered “bird farms” in the Navy, which also goes by that sobriquet. Lovers of anything “Disney” also might remember that when Disneyland opened in Anaheim, California, in 1955, the exclusive ticket which would give visitors unlimited access to all rides and attractions was known as the “E” ticket. Both these examples pale in comparison to the importance of the boundary of education, which serves as a “gatekeeper” to so many avenues of life. I only have to look at my own family to see a pertinent example.
Although I was initially an indifferent student, I’ll give the Navy full credit for waking me up to the value of education. I had a younger brother, now deceased, who was not so fortunate. He was only seven years old when I left home, and he basically followed in my less than inspiring footsteps. Probably smarter than I am, but not taking advantage of his opportunities, including the military, he quit school in the 8th grade. This really upset my mother, who enrolled him in Forrest County Agricultural High School, at Brooklyn, where he lived in the dormitory for a year. Although it was hard to do, he managed to flunk out and spent the next few years working a succession of jobs where he never really applied himself. When I would come home on leave, I would encourage him to get back in school. Once, he decided that he wanted to become a chef, so I took him to New Orleans and enrolled him in a cooking school at Delgado Community College. He beat me back home. Another time, he wanted to be a diesel mechanic, finished the course at Pearl River Community College, but never turned a wrench. He managed to finish truck driving school but never drove a truck. Lucky for him, he married a fine woman, who helped him get his stuff together, and had a good life. During our conversations on his death bed, however, he told me that one of his biggest regrets was that he didn’t stay in school.
Thinking of my brother reminds me, finally, of the ultimate boundary – death. No matter what we accomplish, how smart we are, how rich, how famous, whatever – mortality is universal. During all those long nights at sea, I read a lot, and my favorite story illustrative of its inevitability comes from the Russian writer, Leo Tolstoy. In his recounting of a famous folk tale, “How Much Land Does a Man Need?” (1886), he tells of a peasant named Pahom, who is offered a remarkable proposition: for a “small” sum, but some would say his soul, he can have all the land he can walk around in one day, from sunrise to sunset.
Eager to claim as much as possible, he set off early the next morning, walking as far and as fast as he could. As the day progressed, he continued stretching the boundaries of his walk, motivated by his desire to own a large estate. But as sunset approached, Pahom realized that he had gone too far. He must now race back to the morning’s starting point to meet the conditions of the agreement. He runs desperately, pushing his body to the limit, arriving at the starting point only to collapse from fatigue. The herculean effort, however, has proven fatal and he dies from exhaustion. In the end, all the land he really needs is a plot large enough for his grave, six feet from head to heel.
The moral of the story is a warning against excessive greed and a question to every reader – how much we do really need in terms of material possessions? You can’t take it with you – how many U-Hauls have you seen following a hearse? It is also a wake-up call to the thoughtful – as we strive to overcome the boundaries which limit us, we must not give up our integrity, humility, compassion, and self-respect.
Light a candle for me.
