PRE-SCHOOL DAYS -- XENIA, OHIO

World War I was winding down, my father was in France and mother was home with us four boys. One of the things that stands out in my mind is a delivery of chickens from my grandfather.

My grandfather was a very esteemed, retired bishop of the AME Church and the second president of Wilberforce, University, 5 miles north of Xenia, Ohio. He had a modest home of several acres with a barn, a chicken coup, a horse (George), a small orchard, and a number of chickens. This was sort of a family homestead, fairly large with an outhouse and indoor plumbing.

Grandfather had a close connection with the seminary which was just off the main campus of Wilberforce University, and a stones throw from the homestead. There was always a seminary student working at the house. It was not unusual for a young student on horseback to deliver something to our house. Perhaps clothes for the boys, or food for the table, or whatever they thought boys 3, 5, 7, and 9 might need. This time I heard the word chickens, and I was jumping for joy. I loved chickens, but when I saw a man on a horse passing a large sack through the living room bay window, I knew it couldn’t’ be a chicken dinner – not realizing that it was many chicken dinners.

My mother was out at the time and wasn’t there, but when my mother returned, I probably had lost interest. One of my brothers, probably Charles, opened the large sack and when my mother came home, a large chicken had taken over the living room and the dining room – 2 on the piano and the others running circles around the kitchen table. Frank and Mossell both said they didn’t know who opened the bag, and Charles, as usual, was no where to be found. ha ha.

TIMEOUT FOR MORE CHICKEN A FEW YEARS LATER.

Speaking of chickens, a few years later, in Cincinnati, Ohio, when I came home from school, my mother was sitting on some steps leading upstairs and sobbing her heart out. Times were very tough for us, my father had been in and out of the hospital and we were heading toward the great depression, and mother was not teaching at that time. I felt bad for her. I went over to try to comfort her. It was a stupid question, but I said, “What’s the matter mother?” She had a book in her lap and said as the tears flowed, “This is the funniest story I’ve ever read. It’s called Chicken every Sunday.

I had to get that in.