The Evolution of Crimson - Jerry Aldridge

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in the mirror. As she stared at herself, she saw what she always saw—daddy’s little girl. Oh how she missed him. Over a year ago, before his death, she had won the “Celebrity Look Alike” contest because of her stunning resemblance to Elizabeth Taylor. Winifred was a ravishing beauty. She had her dad’s Mediterranean good looks and her mom’s Scandinavian figure. How could she possibly lose? When she arrived at breakfast decked in curlers and cold cream, she still looked like a budding movie star. At least that was what her father would have told her.

      Frances Dodd was first and foremost the mother of a 19-year-old college student and a nine-year-old fourth grader. But she was also a struggling widow and third grade teacher at Edgewood Elementary School. When her husband Edmund died, there was no insurance policy and all of their money had been poured into their new home on Shades Parkway. Frances had to find a way to make more money so she had gone back to school every summer to get her master’s degree where Winifred was beginning her sophomore year. Where else but the University of Alabama! Frances had already registered for summer school through the mail, but Winifred had been sent a postcard telling her to register on June 11th. After breakfast, Frances, Winifred, and Trisha would head for Tuscaloosa.

      “Morning Winifred. How do you want your eggs?” yawned Frances.

      “Any way is fine, mama.”

      After a few minutes of silence Winifred sighed, “I really don’t want to go to school this summer. I need a break.”

      “I understand, but we’ve already gone over this. If you go to summer school, you can finish college in three years. It’ll save a lot of money and even with your college loans, I don’t think we can afford it if you have to go the fourth year.”

      “I know. I know. What time are we leaving?”

      “What time did the postcard say you were to register?”

      “Eleven.”

      “We’d better hurry. I’ll wake Trisha and get dressed.”

      “Go ahead. I’ll wash the dishes,” Winifred sighed as she grabbed her plate and headed toward the sink.

      At exactly 9:30 am, Winifred, Frances, and Trisha piled into their 1956 two door, blue and white Chevrolet Bel-Air. Frances drove. She made her way to Highway 11 for the hour and a half drive to the University of Alabama—a trip they would make every week day that summer. While Frances and Winifred took classes, Trisha would be staying with Frances’ niece, Helen Mims Katwick, a housewife in Alberta City, an adjacent suburb of Tuscaloosa. Trisha had already gotten into a summer routine of staying up late and sleeping most of the morning. By the time the Bel Air passed Fairfield, Trisha was fast asleep in the back seat. Winifred reached for her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She lit two Salems—one for her and one for Frances. At home, they rarely smoked because Nana Mims, what Winifred called her grandmother Versilla as a term of endearment, did not like the smell of smoke in the house. As they passed Bessemer, a trail of smoke poured out of the Bel Air windows as well as the tail pipe, long overdue for a new muffler.

      Manchester, Alabama

      May 5, 1921

      Benjamin and Versilla Mims were Winifred Dodd’s maternal grandparents. In 1921, Ben and Versie and their children Rupert and Frances moved into a new farmhouse, surrounded by their five acres of land, in Manchester, Alabama. Both Ben and Versie came from traditional southern families. They were both taught to know who they were and how things were. For Ben and Versie had both been told that everything in this world was either black or white. You were either rich or poor, Colored or White, Yankee or Confederate, Republican or Democrat, Baptist or Catholic and you cheered for either Alabama or Auburn but not both. None of the polarities were to be mixed. That would contaminate everything. Any variations or deviations from the laws of “black and white” were inconceivable, incomprehensible, and most of all, unforgivable. Even worse, any transgression of these laws would be an abomination to God.

      The northwest Alabama they knew was a far cry from the blackbelt of central and southern Alabama. Though they owned a small farm, they knew it was not a plantation. In the scheme of rich and poor, they knew they were poor. Unlike the south that would one day be depicted in Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind, Versie and Ben lived an entirely different existence. They saw themselves as totally independent with no need for servants, not to mention they had no money to hire them. There would be no farm hands or Colored people to help tend their five acres. In this part of Alabama, everyone was poor, according to Versie. The Negroes who lived in this part of Alabama were few and far between. In fact, Frances who was already nine-years-old had never seen a Negro. Rupert had seen only one Colored man and that was when he went with Ben into Jasper to buy supplies for their new farm.

      Versie and Ben were proud of their values and especially confident because they knew what was right and wrong. Right was right. Wrong was wrong—period! Frances and Rupert were not only expected to inherit their parents’ moral code, they were to absorb their ethical values like human sponges. They would learn the world is black and white. There were no other paradigms or worldviews. That’s the way it had always been and that’s the way it should be in the future.

      Manchester, Alabama

      June 7, 1950

      Almost 30 years after her grandparents moved to Manchester, six-year-old Winifred Dodd and her 10-year-old cousin Helen Mims spent their summers at Nana and Daddy Mims’ five acre farm. Long before the days of four lane highways, everyone going to Manchester had to travel a two lane, unpaved road. The dusty path to the Mims’ farmhouse meandered adjacent to the Warrior River. Winifred and Helen’s parents had to pass over a one lane bridge that returned to a dirt road until they came to a sparse settlement of houses and the Manchester Missionary Baptist Church. That was Manchester—a town with no sidewalks and no paved streets. At the end of the dirt road lived Nana and Daddy Mims. The mucky track ended at the back door of their country home. The Mims’ front door faced the creek. To Winifred’s grandparents, this was prime waterfront property. Their preferred source of entertainment during the summer months was sitting on the front porch, watching the “crick” go by.

      Nana and Daddy Mims planted four acres on the side of the house that flourished in late spring with strawberries, green beans, field peas, corn, okra, and watermelon. On the other side of the vegetable garden blossomed fields of sunflowers, hibiscus, Indian pink, crested iris, royal catchfly, woodland phlox, swamp lily, and false indigo.

      Daddy Mims worked at the Eldridge post office. Helen and Winifred stayed on the farm with Nana Mims, who was rather lackadaisical when it came to watching her granddaughters. However, she did have one non-negotiable rule. That was, they were never to go in the creek or over the creek because there were water moccasins. It was just plain dangerous.

      During the summer of 1950, Helen and Winifred spent most of their time outdoors. Helen was as boisterous as a bull in a china shop. She always took the lead in both their indoor and outdoor shenanigans. Winifred resigned herself to just follow along.

      In early June, Helen and Winifred were playing on the front porch with their dolls and teddy bears. Helen thought she was much too old for dolls and stuffed animals but since there was nothing else to do, she played with Winifred and bossed her around. The dolls and bears were used to pass the hot, steamy summer afternoon. Nana Mims was in the house trying to do chores and keep as cool as she could next to a blaring fan. The girls had the outdoors all to themselves.

      The front porch looked out onto a sloping front yard. The Mims owned the property all the way to the riparian zone on the banks of the creek. Even though it was a small tributary of the Warrior River, the family referred to it as the “big Warrior River.” As the residents and guests sat on the porch, watching the river go by, chickens could be heard to the right and around the corner of the house. Next to that were the strawberry patch and the vegetable garden. After the vegetable garden, a tree lined path led to the woods. The barn and cornfield were located on the other side of the path.

      Anyone who happened to see Winifred and Helen playing on the front porch would be struck by the stark contrast between the two girls.

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