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A Millville Hero

Heroes come in all shapes and sizes.  Some are men of valor honored for their courage in combat while others might accomplish extraordinary feats.  The dictionary defines a hero as a person who, in the opinion of others, has heroic qualities or has performed a heroic act and is regarded as a model or ideal.

My heroes may not fit the standard definition, but no matter, they are heroes to me.

Nell Arrant is just one.

She and her family lived in our Millville neighborhood.  Her youngest son, Leonard, was my best friend.  It was a friendship than spanned from my earliest recollection to my teen years.

Leonard and I did everything together and during the summer, we spent every single day playing.  Most, if not all, of these days were at Leonard’s house.  My dad worked at the paper mill and he slept irregular hours.  Woe to the child who awakens father after eight or sixteen hours of mill work.  So, our yard and the noise associated with children was off limits.

This is a picture from the The Casual Historian Blog
These were care free days where a young boy’s glory was measured by the speed of his curve ball, marbles in a pocket, creative cursing, and spitting.

Leonard’s mother was always home keeping a watchful eye on both of us.  We did not venture far, unless it was to a ball game at Daffin Park, but most of our time was spent in his yard playing army or simply tossing a ball back and forth.

Gardner’s Drug Store was down the street and it was a special treat to go there for a vanilla or cherry coke.  Leonard loved comic books and always seemed to know when the new monthly allotment arrived at the drug store. 

The store had a unique odor of pharmaceuticals and ice cream.  The old fashioned soda fountain specialized in milk shakes and hand dipped cones.  I loved the butter pecan and I haven’t been able to find any as good since Gardner’s Drug Store closed.  It was good, real good.  Leonard usually financed such purchases.  He was a wizard at finding money in the sofa or the floor board of his brother’s car.

I have often said my last meal on earth, if I could choose, would consist of fried corn bread, fried chicken, fresh peas, mashed potatoes, sliced tomatoes and a glass of sweet iced tea.  Mrs. Arrant fixed that a lot and it always looked and smelled like heaven.  She is responsible for my fixation on fried corn bread.

She also preserved figs, which was no easy task in a kitchen without air conditioning.  A huge fig tree in the back yard produced a bounty of figs each year.  The steam from the figs cooking in a large metal pot would fill the small house and permeate the neighborhood.  It smelled the essence of a hot summer day.

I love a hot biscuit packed full of homemade fig preserves.  Leonard’s mama is responsible for that, too. 

Once, when we were walking home from school, Leonard and I encountered a gang of hoodlums.  These were older boys who dropped out of school and preyed on younger kids for unspent lunch money to buy cigarettes.  They threatened us and demanded we give them money.  I maliciously complied because I never cared much for fighting boys bigger than me especially when they were in groups.  Leonard, however, loved to fight and quickly found himself in the middle of a thrashing. 

Almost on cue, Mrs. Arrant came running toward us with an umbrella swinging and began flogging the delinquents.  They scattered.  She was like a knight in shining armor, our cavalry.  At the time I thought she saved our life.  I have no idea how she knew we needed help but she did.  We never had problems with those boys again.

This is a picture from the The Casual Historian Blog
I suspect she learned some of her tactical fighting maneuvers from Dynamite Dick Dunn.  Dunn was one of many “good guy wrestlers” she and her daughter watched every Saturday evening on WTVY.  The live event was held in the station’s studio and was a favorite of many Millville families.

I never fully understood the attraction to TV wrestling.  My father had taken me to a wrestling event at Panama City’s Rainbow Roller Rink and I was shocked to see two wrestlers, who had just finished beating each other silly, chatting and joking with each other in the restroom.  I was only a kid but I knew enough to know that those guys were just pretending to kill each other and it was all a show.  It was never the same after that.

But for Nell Arrant it was the real deal or either it didn’t matter.  She would scream and holler for her favorite wrestler and shout ugly names at the villains.  Stuff would fly through the air, feet stomped, and teeth gnashed.  I learned to either go home or stay outside as to not get caught in the crossfire.  TV wrestling was special time at the Arrant house. 

If I ever got on her nerves, she never let on.  She treated me like one of her own children.  In fact, once after being stung by a wasp, she chewed some tobacco to make a quick poultice to put on the sting.  As if magic, the burn disappeared along with the swelling.  I thought it was a miracle.

The doors and windows were always open since there was no air conditioning so the murmur of children playing was always in the background.  If it got too quiet, she would stick her head out the door for a quick inspection.  If we were out of site, she would call in a sharp shrill voice.  Leonard knew this voice well and what ever we were doing would be put on hold until his Mama was answered.  I saw him get a licking more than once from his Mama.  When she called, he came.

This is a picture from the The Casual Historian Blog
I haven’t seen her in a long time.  The last time we talked, she reminded me of the yellow rose I had given her as a child, which she planted.  She told me it is still alive. 

I am sure the gift of a rose was to show my special appreciation to her and for all she put up with when we were children.That’s what neighborhood mothers did back then.  I suppose many still do today.  In my view, like Nell Arrant, they are all heroes.

Comments (1)


Posted on Jul 01, 2008 - 03:11 PM by Larche Hardy
Page 1 of 1 pages

 

About Me

The life of any News Director is stressful most days... so, when the weekend rolls around I find myself on the back roads of our bountiful and beautiful part of the state looking for bluegrass music, interesting things to do, and, of course, fried chicken. I will try to share some of these "finds" with you. There are a thousand stories left to be told or simply remembered. Don't expect to find them all here; maybe just a little stroll down memory lane or maybe a little skewed insight into topical issues.
Larche Hardy,
News Director

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