When my grandfather, Lusion K Tapley died in 1935, my grandmother, Nealie Drake Tapley, was only 40 years old. She had six children to support, ranging in age from 7 years old (my father, Gilbert, the youngest) to 20 years old (my Uncle Lamar, the oldest). She worked various jobs over the years, from telephone operator to sharecropping. The oldest boys all worked on local farms to help out. No matter how hard the labor she had to do to make a living, I am sure that raising 5 boys and a girl was harder, especially in their teenage years. There are so many stories in our family of how the boys would try to get away with something and Grandma's creative kind of discipline to deal with their mischief. To say that Grandma Nealie had her hands full is an understatement. She had to work hard to keep up with those children, especially the boys.
Uncle Hugh was the 3rd oldest. He was 15 years old when their father died. He was wild as a buck the next few years. It seemed that every time his older brother, Russ, would get into trouble, Hugh would catch the blame and part of the punishment, even when he didn't deserve it. There is no way of knowing exactly how losing his father at a young age, trying to stay out of trouble with his very religious and tough mother, trying to keep up with his two older brothers, the hard work of farm life, the endless poverty and struggle to have food to eat... how all of that combined in him to form the man he became.
Uncle Hugh was a complicated man. Was he a black sheep? Maybe not, but he was definitely borderline scoundrel.
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Arrow points to Hugh Tapley
circa 1942-1944 |
There were some signs. He dated a local girl, Annie Lois Gladin, who ended up marrying his oldest brother, Lamar. He also dated a girl named Blanche Dixon, and because of the events in the story I'm about to share with you, they broke up and she married Hugh's brother, Dempsey. As soon as he could, Hugh got a good, civilian job at the Naval Air Station in Jacksonville, Florida, probably so he wouldn't have to worry about money so much again. Uncle Hugh was very tight with his money; however, he and my father always seemed to be in some kind of contest of who had the nicer car. If Uncle Hugh went and bought a new car, my father followed suit... and vice versa. Hugh liked nice cars, especially Lincolns. Uncle Hugh could be abusive to his wife and four children. He had money for nice cars, but didn't always share that money for food or clothes for the kids.
Like most everyone, Hugh was not all bad. He was a scoundrel, but loveable. He could do something bad and then turn around and do something good. The following story is an example of this. I am going to share this story almost exactly as my father always told it, so I am sure there are some discrepancies included.
Sometime around 1938, when Hugh would have been about 19-20 years old, he borrowed a mule and a buggy from his friend's, James Burnett, employer (on a local farm), and he and James went out to the local honkytonk called the Beeline right at the city limits of Kite, on the road to Swainsboro. After a night of drinking and good times, the two went outside to get the mule and buggy to head home. They got into an argument over where the mule was tied, and James Burnett called Hugh a "SOB." Hugh quickly told him to take that back or he would cut James's throat. James refused to take it back. So as any 19-20 year old Southern boy defending his honor would do, Hugh pulled out his pocket knife. But then he cut James's throat... literally from ear to ear. Maybe the act sobered him up. Maybe he just realized what he had done, and he wanted to fix it. Either way, he proceeded to carry James Burnett to the doctor's house to have him sewn up, and thus saved his life.
Then self-preservation kicked in. He left James, at the doctor's supposedly, and returned to the bar to get the mule and buggy. He went to the home of his older (half) brother, James (or Fella as the family called him), and told him what happened. I think all of the kids went to Uncle James at one point or another for help or advice. He was the type to give you the shirt off his back. Anyway, Fella must have told Hugh to go to Wrightsville and see their Uncle Jim (James L "Jim" Tapley [1868-1941]), who was a long-time Johnson County Sheriff's Deputy.
So Hugh rode to Wrightsville, a distance of about 10 miles, in the middle of the night by mule and buggy. He told Uncle Jim what happened, and Jim's first question was "Do you have a gun?" Hugh said he did not. Uncle Jim's advice? Get a gun and watch his back as far as Burnett goes. So it was then that Uncle Hugh left town and went to Jacksonville, Florida in order to give James Burnett some time to calm down.
I don't know how long he was gone, but eventually Hugh came back home. The funny thing? He and James Burnett ended up working side by side at the farm again.
Several years later, my father, Gilbert, moved to Jacksonville, and he was working at the shipyard. A new guy came in and kept staring at him. Gilbert finally had enough and asked the guy what his problem was. The guy asked him, "Are you Hugh Tapley?" My dad replied, "No. That's my brother." It was none other than James Burnett. He showed my father his scar, and Gilbert knew exactly who he was. They got along just fine from that point on.
Scoundrel, I said. But Uncle Hugh seemed to always get away with it.
He was my favorite uncle. We were close right up until he passed away. We could make each other laugh. And he loved cats. No one who loves cats is all bad.
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