My friends - Today, we are looking at another of the little narratives which Professor Gordon Wilson included in his 1940's book, "Fidelity Folks", which is a remembrance of the era in which Professor Wilson grew up( about 1880 - 1910) in New Concord, in Calloway County. "Fidelity Folks" was the sequel to his earlier word, "Passing Institutions", from which we draw from time to time. Professor Wilson also wrote a column for a newspaper for a period of time, which contained these same sorts of delightful memorabilia. Today's selection is entitled 'Our Uncle Remus'. It reminds us, by some of its wording, of how far we have come in the area of race relationships, even since Professor Wilson wrote these words in the middle 1940's. On another subject, I am declaring a Christmas holiday recess, insofar as my posts to the lists are concerned, until 27 December. E-mail traffic, as you have probably noticed, is already falling off, as we prepare for the celebration next week. I will be monitoring the lists I host, and may drop by with a small post now and then, but I expect to try to refrain from postings next week. I hope we will keep each other in our thoughts over the next several days, and especially those who must travel to other places. This List cannot spare any of you just yet<g>, so do be careful. A special train of thought goes to those who have loved ones in the service of the nation in foreign countries and who will not be able to be at home with their families. We pray for their continued safety and for a return soon to their homes. -B +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ OUR UNCLE REMUS -Prof.Gordon Wilson “Fidelity Folks” Uncle Charlie was one of the patriarchal darkies at Fidelity whom everybody knew and unconsciously elevated into a sort of dusky oracle. I might say that "Uncle" was a term of respect and was applied to older people of either color. In no sense was it apologetic or condescending in nature, as it so often is in its present day use, Our Negro uncle pretended to be more ancient than he was, even though he was old enough by the calendar. He said that he had been the nurse of Marse Jerry, who looked old enough to be Santa Claus's grandfather. He would allow nobody, white or black, to dispute his dates, which had a way of being wobbly at times. Though we knew when the Purchase was settled--for Uncle John Hawkins had hunted there, and Uncle John's word had never been found false--Uncle Charlie told of things that happened at Leavenport, his name for Fidelity, long before 1819, the official opening of the land. His only competitor in remembering things that had never happened was Aunt Nicey, who stoutly maintained that she had come from Africa, had served Marse George Washington, and had "nussed" Marse Jefferson Davis. Marse Jerry said that he was a good-sized boy when Charlie was born, but we youngsters preferred to believe the colored rather than the white uncle, especially since both were forgetful and seemed fully as ancient as the Revolutionary War. According to Uncle Charlie, the whole area around Fidelity had been infested with bears, wolves, catamounts (‘panthers’), and wild turkeys. He had enough hair-breadth escapes to tell about to equal the life of a modern comic­ strip character. To his credit be it said, he rarely told of slaughter of wild animals; he ran away with great rapidity or cat-like stealth, We children, half amused and more than half scared, afraid that some of his monsters might return to our own woods, heard his wonderful yarns and wished that we could have lived when life was more exciting, Uncle Charlie, like most of his fellow slaves, could read a moral lesson that some­times seemed pretty large for one so ignorant, He felt very deeply the gulf between master and man and saw to it that the children of both sexes learned the dignity of staying in one's place. His white folks, of course, had been of the quality. His old mistress had taught him his philosophy, and to quote her closed any argument. He had been a soldier, so he said, but the hard-hearted elderly white people somewhat spoiled this dream of his by asserting that he had never smelled gunpowder in his life, He met this affront by saying that he signed up in this fashion: "Charlie Stubblefield, in at any time and out at any time," Since some of our white CSA friends had had rather doubtful connections with the Confederate army, we laugh­ingly said--behind their backs, of course­that some of them had probably joined like Uncle Charlie. Though he was a gray-bearded patriarch when I could first remember, he seemed to get no older, even if some of the children whom he had grown up with, like Marse Jerry, grew feeble and tottery, Aunt France, his venerable wife, kept the same hold on life, though he often teased her about how he would be setting out again as soon as she died. And then, just after I had left the hill country around Fidel­ity, our colored philosopher and yarn-spinner could no longer keep a tight grip on life, The last thing I ever heard about him was the rather elaborate funeral given him by his brethren of Mt. Zion and his burial in the little graveyard up Tan Branch, In true Negro fashion, his friends balanced a pick and a shovel across his grave in the form of a cross and left them there for days. I fear there is no tombstone other than the crude bit of pudding stone that was stuck up as a marker to his grave - but there ought to be, as here, at least one tear of remembrance is shed for one who opened up so many worlds of unreality to so many credulous youngsters. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++