THE RUDOLPH VALENTINO CRUMPTON STORY Part 2

The young man looked Rudolph over for a minute and then told him to come with him to get something to eat and talk. Rudolph did not know whether he hit it lucky or was just being hustled out of the church because of the way he looked. As they walked, the young man Rudolph had run into introduced himself as Tommy Douglas and continued to lead Rudolph away from the church and to a diner nearly three blocks away. During the walk Tommy questioned Rudolph all the way. He learned Rudolph arrived in town three days before after hopping a coal train from Kentucky. Rudolph’s dad was dead and he dropped out of school somewhere around the ninth grade. Tommy learned Rudolph was behind in his class and was looking for work. Douglas was easy to talk to even for Rudolph. Rudolph had not spoken more than a few words to anyone since he left his uncle’s house but he caught up with his talking on this Mr. Douglas. Tommy knew exactly what he wanted from Rudolph by the time they walked into the converted streetcar/diner. Tommy told Rudolph to order whatever he wanted and suggested the steak and eggs, hash browns, sliced tomatoes and both orange juice and coffee. Rudolph had never had more than a single hamburger and Coke from any restaurant in his life. The only time he had ever even been inside a restaurant was before his dad had gotten sick when he would take Rudolph to the little ‘City Café’ in Matewan, on Saturday afternoons, to get a hamburger and large Grapico. Rudolph remembered the hamburger and drink had cost $1.73 and how he thought that was so much money and how special he was to have his dad spend that much on him just to eat. As hungry as he was, the thought of ordering a steak with his eggs plus both coffee and orange juice simply blew him away. Rudolph thought he must have stumbled across the richest preacher in Pittsburgh and just kept talking and talking much to Tommy’s delight.

Finally Rudolph, trying to figure out how to stay on this gravy train decided to ask this generous man a few questions. “Are you a preacher”, Rudolph ask as he loaded his last piece of toast with as much butter as he could smear. “No”, Tommy said laughing, “I did not mean to mislead you.” “My aunt is a secretary and bookkeeper at the church and I had just gone by to tell her Happy Birthday and give her a little present. I’m really not much of a church go’er,” Tommy said, “I’m a businessman here in Pittsburgh.” “What kind of business,” Rudolph asks trying to determine if this might be someone that could turn into a job opportunity. “I do things for people that they don’t want to do themselves,” Tommy answered, seeing an opportunity to make Rudolph a part of his world. “Why aren’t you working today,” Rudolph ask, trying hard to make sense out of everything going on. “Most of the time I don’t work at regular times,” Tommy told him. “The things I do for people are usually done at night, and a lot of the time outside of Pittsburgh,” Tommy was really confusing Rudolph now, all the time watching, trying to read Rudolph’s reaction. “Do you do the same things every time or do you do different things at different times,” Rudolph while always having struggled in his class work was already street savvy and was beginning to smell something even a kid from the coal fields knew may not be just right. “I do different things at different times, depending on what my customer needs, I’m working tonight,” Tommy offered, “why don’t you come with me.” “You don’t have anything else to do or anywhere to stay,” Tommy said, “come on with me, I’ll help you get a place to stay and pay you a hundred dollars ($100.00) to help me tonight.” “A hundred dollars,” Rudolph nearly spit his coffee across the table. He had never held more than the thirty-five dollars ($35) he had taken from his aunt in his hands at one time in his life. To Rudolph one hundred dollars was a dream, as far as he was concerned a hundred dollars was probably more than anyone in Matewan could put together. Rudolph did not even ask or care what he had to do to get this money. For a minute he did wonder if he was going to be expected to kill someone but even that thought did not bother him that much. He would almost kill himself for that much money and he certainly would kill someone he did not know. Tommy saw the change in Rudolph immediately and knew then he had the help he had been looking for so long. To seal the deal Tommy left a $10.00 tip and handed Rudolph a twenty-dollar $20 bill to stick in his pocket for what he called ‘walking around’ money. They left the diner and quickly found Tommy’s year old Cadillac Seville and headed toward a boarding house on the south side of Pittsburgh and Rudolph’s new way of life.

(to be cont'd)

THE RUDOLPH VALENTINO CRUMPTON STORY

Rudolph Valentino Crumpton had been born in Matewan, West Virginia fifty-three years ago. Matewan is a small coal-mining town in southwest West Virginia near both the Kentucky and Virginia state lines. Life there was tough and Rudolph’s family had it the toughest. His dad was a coal miner who became disabled with a severe case of black lung disease when Rudolph was 13 and in his second year of the 6th grade. His mother tried every way possible to hold the family together but was finally forced to give up her family by the time Rudolph reached the age of 15. There were no jobs in Matewan other than underground in the mines. With his mother’s health failing Rudolph was forced to move to Pikeville, Kentucky to live with an aunt and uncle, his dad’s brother, just as he entered the 8th grade. Rudolph had never been much of a student but now he was at least three years behind the other kids his age and never hope to catch up or graduate. Rudolph hated Pikeville, his aunt and uncle and everything about his life. He fought everyday at school because as the new kid, three years behind the other kids his age. He was not really a people person and he had a chip on his shoulder as big as the trains, loaded with coal that rolled through the small town every day. In hopes of finding something he could do to make life a little more bearable Rudolph jumped a coal train out of Pikeville headed to Pittsburgh. Rudolph took thirty-five dollars from a stash he knew his aunt kept and quickly stuffed his second pair of pants and two extra shirts his uncle had bought him into an old Belk-Hudson bag he found under a bed. He arrived in Pittsburgh, almost sixteen years old, with twenty-eight dollars, the clothes on his back and a few extras in a Belk’s shopping bag. He had spent seven dollars when he got off that first train in Lexington, thinking he was in Pittsburgh. The kid had no identification, no place to stay and did not know anyone that could help him in any way. The Crumpton’s had never been a church going family but an old man Rudolph met while still in the train yard in Pittsburgh told him to find a church and to ask for food and money for a room. It was in the early fall when Rudolph arrived in Pittsburgh and he was able to live on the streets for a couple of days before totally exhausting his twenty-eight dollars and finding himself broke and desperate. Rudolph spotted a church the first day in town but had not tried to solicit any help thinking he could find work on his own. He had never been in a church in his life and was actually a little scared of churches.

In Matewan there were only two churches and his family did not attend either one. There was the one in the middle of town where all the ‘rich’ people went and where the Crumpton family would never fit in. The other was on the outskirts of town where some of Rudolph’s schoolmates attended. Rudolph heard from his schoolmates the people in this church drank poison and handled snakes, which gave him ample reason to steer clear. The little church was located just a mile or so outside downtown Matewan. Like all the structures in that part of West Virginia the church was wedged between a small two-lane highway and one of the huge mountains that locked everything in the valley. The outside walls were whitewashed and the signage was hand painted by members of the congregation with what must have been large brushes. The sign over the door announced this was the “Apostolic Church Forever in the Spirit” but the sign that always bothered Rudolph was painted on the wall and said;

"And these signs shall follow them that believe; in my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover."

This scripture covered most of the wall facing the little highway. Rudolph always figured this meant the things he heard about the snake handling were for real and he just never saw a need to check it out or certainly join in whatever went on there. Sadly after two days in Pittsburgh, and with no luck in finding work, Rudolph saw no alternative except to try his luck at the Church. Around 10:30 in the morning on his third day in Pittsburgh, snakes or no snakes, he walked into the office area of the Church he noticed upon arriving in Pittsburgh and asks a young man coming out of an office if he could help him get something to eat.
(to be cont'd)

CAM CAME AND TOOK NO PRISONERS

I TOLD YA'LL CAM WAS COMING AND BRINGING HIS POSSE.
SOME LISTENED AND WERE SPARED SOME SHARE OF THE PAIN,
BUT OTHERS ALL LAUGHED AND SHOUTED WITH GLEE,
BRING HIM ON, BRING HIM ON TO OUR LITTLE NICKY THEY ALL LOOK THE SAME,

LITTLE NICKY BURST OUT WITH ALL OF HIS MIGHT
HIS TROOPS SCORED 24 EARLY AS THE TOOK UP THE FIGHT,
BUT THEN CAME CAM, 'BIG NICK FAILEY, AND ALL OF THE TIGERS
THE WHIPPING THEY LAID WAS A HELL OF A SIGHT.

THE MORAL MY FRIENDS IS SIMPLE AND SWEET
JUST LISTEN TO OLD NORMAN WHEN HIS WISDOM IS SHARED
AND PAIN AND DESPAIR YOU WILL SURELY BE SPARED.

SCOTT WILLIS / THANK YOU

I lost a dear friend and good buddy this week. Scott Willis was one of the finest men I have had the privilege of knowing. Scott's pure goodness will be missed far beyond our loss of his tremendous talents. Scott is one of God's lessons to us that money, houses, cars and material possessions are not what is important, it is the person within. Scott gave so much of himself and his talents to so many that he will be in the minds and hearts of all of us for years to come. There is a hole in this community that can not be filled.

Thank you for all the beauty and laughter you brought to me and all you knew. What an addition to God's choir. Rest, we know where you are and will see you soon.

WHAT'S HAPPENING AT WAL-MART

I've been reading on the hometown newsy web site Harold Bearden runs about the discrimination Haleyville is suffering because they are not on a four lane. Apparently Wal-Mart will not turn their little under stocked store that has been in Haleyville for years into a Super Center, one that has all the bells and whistles. This is not right and Wal-Mart should be held accountable. A person from Haleyville should be able to buy everything from grits to wife beater shirts (with a picture of Coach Byrant leaning against a goal post) in Haleyville as easy as those living in Hartselle. Now this is a matter that even the strongest 'Tea Party' members would agree needs some government intervention.

Do those that just happen to live in a town with a four lane deserve the American Dream any more that those live in the Dime or Pebble communities around Haleyville. If Sam Walton were alive he would be throwing a fit over these injustices. Sam never took anybody for granted. It mattered not to ole Sam how many roads ran into and out of a town. He slapped that beautiful blue and white 'WAL-MART' sign where every good red blooded American and some Mexicans could get to it quick.

I think it is the 'Yankees' that have taken control of this company since old Sam and Bud died. I have always heard those boys of Sam and Bud had so much money they didn't give a damn about the business and the 'Yankees' just took over after Sam went to that Super Center in the sky. 'Yankees' will do that if you don't watch'em.

That's what's happening in this country today. You turn something over to a bunch of 'Yankees' and within a few years we're doing things the way they do it in Michigan or Ohio. I don't have an answer, if anyone out there does please let me know.

EVER BEEN CALLED STUPID AND IT WAS TRUE?

A couple of weeks ago, during the hottest of the hot times we have experienced this summer, I learned that a person, me in this instance, can be rightfully called stupid in the most innocent of ways. No rudeness, or bad intent, just truthful innocence.

A friend had ask me to ride with him to a city not far from Decatur to look for some grave sites. The reason for going he explained was that his wife had some relatives buried in this particular cemetery and she intended to spruce up the graves before Decoration Day(an annual Sunday in the South when relatives will refresh the grave sites of love ones by making sure the grass is cut or sand smoothed out and fresh plastic flowers are placed on the burial sites). I did not have anybody buried there or did not even know of anyone that intended to be placed at rest in this particular ‘garden’.

We arrived at the huge plot designated as the final resting place for what look like thousands of dearly departed in the heat of the day. There was a tiny office near the only entrance to the place where we stop to ask directions to the plots of my buddy’s distance and long departed in-laws. We both went in and were greeted by a woman just finishing a bucket of KFC hot wings which had obviously been chased by a huge bottle of Sun-Drop. She was a little overweight and had finger nails that had the logo "A" for the University of Alabama in glitter on both index fingers. My friend ask about where Uncle Morton McNutt's family might be buried and without consulting anything the chicken lady quickly informed him they were in the Garden of the Cross, which was the center most plot. “We ain’t got maps for each grave site but I know they are up there because my husband’s third cousin by marriage was buried up there last month and I remember seeing that name, go see if that’s who you’re looking for and if it ain’t come back and I will get out the maps.”

Armed with this wealth of information we returned to our car and started looking for the large Cross she had told us to find. Sure enough in the center of the property on what looked like the highest point we saw the Cross and proceeded to the area surrounding the only clue we had. We parked as close to the Cross as possible but quickly saw the ‘Garden of the Cross’ held what looked like a couple of hundred markers for all those fortunate enough to get what must have been a coveted place.

We had been in the area, separated by only a few grave sites for 15 or 20 minutes and it was miserably hot. As we walked the length of the ‘Garden’ and back, searching each headstone for any McNutt we could find, an old pickup pulled in behind my buddy’s car and stopped. Inside was a driver and two passengers. The driver, sporting a 2 or 3 day old beard and obviously chewing tobacco hollered across all those resting in what had been peace to my buddy and I. “Ya’ll got somebody burd (southern one syllable word for ‘buried’) out there?” Being the closest to him I replied, “no, we are from out of town and we are looking for some of the graves of my friends wife”. “That’s what I come for to" the driver replied, "my old lady found out I was coming to town today and she told me to find an uncle of hers”, the driver informed us. “Ya’ll seen any Willard’s out there”, the grave searcher in the pickup ask? “They’d a-been burd up here since back in the 80’s”, the driver continued to holler. “I haven’t seen anything I remember”, my buddy responded, “but we haven’t covered much ground yet”. “You might a knowed em”, the driver just kept talking. “He was old ‘Mutt’ Willard that run that bait store out on 20 close to the dam, sold a little beer too before the county went wet”, the driver just kept talking without ever getting out of the truck. "I think there's four or five of 'em burd out here". This time we both answered, “We don’t live around here, sorry”, it came out pretty close to the same at the same time.

“Why don’t you get out and look around, surely they will be in here somewhere”, my buddy asks. “Not me the driver responded, I’m gonna just tell the old lady I looked and couldn’t find ‘em, she ain’t gonna know the difference and really don’t care. Anyway I ain’t stupid enough to walk around a hot cemetery in 100 degree weather looking for somebody I don't give a ---- about anyway. See you boys later”. With that the pickup pulled out, passed our car and drove off through the entrance and back on the highway.

Suddenly it hit me, I was stupid enough to stand out in the 100+ degree weather and look for the graves of people I never knew. It must have hit my buddy about the same time because he looked at me and said, “this is pretty stupid, let’s get out of here and I think I’ll tell my ‘old lady’ we couldn’t find her folks either, maybe well come back around Thanksgiving”.

We never found my buddy’s folks or saw where the Willards were burd, but we were smart enough to get back in some air conditioning.

I ADMIT TO BEING 'VISION' CHALLENGED

Hardly a day goes by I don't read or hear something about someone with great 'vision'. The President is supposed to have a great 'vision' for our country. The Republicans are supposed to have a better 'vision' and Warren Buffet just has more 'vision' than Dr.Carter has Liver Pills. I think all of us think we have 'vision' to some extent and many do I'm sure. Those of us who are 'vision' impaired are always asking ourselves how someone knew to put a coat of chocolate around a glob of peanut butter or come up with exactly eleven (11) herbs and spices to coat chicken in before you fried it. We don't like to admit it but other people just have 'vision' and you can't learn it in school.

I have decided I do not have 'vision' after thinking about many of the conclusions I have come to in the past and looking at opinions I have formed over these last 64 years.

First I remember vividly thinking the automobile industry had peaked when the 1957 Chevrolet was introduced. Yea, I figured they would tinker with it a little but never would a car be manufactured that would ever change the basic style. That day, probably in October back in 1956, at Ray Motor Company in Haleyville, was in my opinion at the time the epitome of automobile design efforts, never to be surpassed.

There are many other evidences I should have picked up on over the years that would have confirmed my 'vision' challenged state. Some time in the early 70's Wally Weeks who sold for IBM at the time convinced me that the 'SelectMatic' typewriter would probably be as far as word processing would ever go. In a time of onion skin copies and unforgiving typing, this miracle machine would allow one to back up one letter and remove the mistyped single letter. Was this not as far as typewriting could ever go, Wally convinced me and I bought, knowing I would never need to buy word processing equipment again.

I'm the guy who thought the double bar face mask on a football helmet was the last innovation in facemask, I firmly believed you could never make Coke and Pepsi light, television signals bounced off satellites giving rise to 500 channels, (people couldn't watch the 3 they had at the same time anyway), or telephones that did not utilize land lines.

I'm still working because when computers really took off I never saw that the machines themselves were nowhere near as valuable as the programs running them. I never thought a gazillion applications could be marketed for use by a world starved for the next new gizmo app giving you a score from a game being played on the opposite side of the world or a recipe for cooking ribs in your backyard.

I have long reconciled myself to the fact this world is made up of all kinds of people. Some are givers, some are takers, some are basically good and some without God are basically bad, some are athletes some are bookworms. Some are 'visionary' and I'm not.