12 Lincoln Court

T.W. Jones a boy of about 12 lived on the other side of Miss Sarah Floyd with his mother and younger brother and two sisters. T.W. As we called him never went past the 4^th grade. He was living so fast he had overshot his years by a long long shot. He was driving an old beat up car, drinking, smoking, and other things that would shock a boy of any age. He was also having sex. The stories he would tell would amaze the pope. One afternoon he came down to 12 Lincoln Ct. and whispered in my ear, "hey come up to my house, I got something to show you." "Shhh he whispered as we went in the front door. His mother and sisters were out working and his younger brother was at a baby sitter thank god. As I approached his bedroom I saw a woman laying in his bed stark naked and drunk. He proceeded to pull her legs apart to expose her sexual parts, which for some reason was void of any hair. It was not a pretty sight to me and I backed away out the door. The woman appeared to be three or four times T.W.’s age. I never told anyone. T.W. continued in his conquest of smoking and drinking and continued his sexual prowess. T.W. died at the age of 20 of tuberculosis. He never really took care of himself, never ate much, no proper rest. He lived his whole life in twenty years and passed on to the great beyond. The poet John Keats who died in his early twenties, had many years before he wrote his won epitaph- "Here lies one whose name was written in water." Keats death was due to an illness beyond his control. People said that T.W.’s death was brought on by malnutrition and neglect. He passed so swiftly that seemingly his name was written on water.

Mr. Mac Broomer the dear friend who was present at Big Bishops death did not live in Lincoln Ct. but across the alley from both and only a few doors down from 14 Sullivan Ct. He was a tall lean dark skinned man, whom I believed looked older than his years. He only had one arm and lived alone. He raised chickens and always had a host of baby chicks running around in this self make chicken coop. He would let me pet and play with baby chicks. He knew I adored them but above and beyond that, he was a good story teller. during his evening visits with ARA and Big Bishop he would always tell me a story before he left. At these times we would sit on the back porch, the four of us with my mother joining us at times. His stories were always lively with a mixture of fright and laughter. One moonlit night as we sat on the back porch he told us a story about a witch that lived in his neighborhood when he was my age. She was notoriously known for getting out of her own skin so she could look more ghastly and then proceed to terrorize certain neighbors she didn’t like. This included riding their backs. A wise old lady in the neighborhood had finally had enough of this witch and decided to do something about it. So one night the wise old lady waited in the woods behind the witch’s house while she got out of her skin. When the witch left to do her nightly chores that of bringing terror to those she did not like, the wise old lady went in her house and shook red pepper all over her (the witch) skin which she had left on the bed. When the witch returned and got back in her skin, she started to dance a jig being in great pain and anguish. She kept jumping around and saying skinny! skinny! shinny! Don’t you know me? Skinny! skinny! don’t you know me?