Felix "Flip"
Fraiser Quick-Lube Conversation
I talked to a veteran of The
Big War, i.e., World War II, Tuesday morning, while waiting inside a quick
lube shop in Indianola. I was perusing a sports magazine at the time he entered
through the front door of the business that opens into a small waiting area.
He spoke a cheerful "Good morning," as he took a seat and began to write
a check. I glanced up at him to return his greeting and went back to the
sports article that had my attention. A few minutes later, I flipped the
magazine back onto the table where I had earlier picked it up and stood
momentarily to stretch my legs. I had spent more than two hours driving to
Indianola, and I was tired of sitting.
I walked over to peer through the window of the door to the service center
to see if my car was being serviced. It was, so I glanced out the front door
to check the price of gasoline at the Wal-Mart directly across the street.
"Two seventy-seven," I thought, "Gas is cheaper here than in Pontotoc."
The veteran continued with his check-writing chore. I happened to note the
likeness of a ship on his baseball cap and shifted my weight for a better
look. Above the ship icon the cap read, "USS J. Franklin Bell," and below
it was something like "APA-16"
"Is that a picture of a ship you were on? I asked, curiously.
"Yes, its the J. Franklin Bell," he responded with a hint of appreciation
and a smile.
I couldnt think fast enough to ask what theater of the war he served
in, so I simply asked, "What part of the war were you in?"
I was in the Pacific," he responded.
I learned that his ship was an attack transport ship and that he didnt
seem to mind my inquisitiveness.
"Were you in service at the time of the attack on Pearl Harbor?" I asked.
"No," he shared, "I was in school in Wynne, Arkansas."
He went on to state he joined the Navy in October of 1943 and served on the
ship until his discharge in 1945. He told me his ship had been a luxury liner
that was scheduled to be mothballed before it was outfitted for use by the
Navy.
"Our commander wanted it fireproofed. He found a hundred fire axes and had
us rip out some of the most beautiful, spiral, wooden staircases, you can
imagine. It hurt me to do that because I always liked to work with wood."
He told me that all of the hoists for unloading tanks and heavy equipment
were steam operated and quite fast, in that they could get their ship unloaded
faster than crews whose ships used electric powered cranes and hoists.
"Were yall ever attacked by dive bombers or suicide pilots?"
"No, I saw two Japanese airplanes the whole time I was in the war. Some of
our pilots chased them off. I watched them disappear in a jungle."
I gathered he was near an island at the time of the incident. I counted him
among the lucky ones who served in the Pacific theater during the war, in
that the only casualties aboard his ship were those of soldiers injured in
fighting on the islands who were in transit to a port on the West Coast of
the United States.
Knowing that a lot of veterans have reunions with their regiments, battalions,
or shipmates, I asked about his group.
"Yes, weve had several reunions, but there werent but eighteen
or so at our last reunion. We may not have another one."
"Yall just arent living long enough," I mused, as a way to avoid
saying all his shipmates were dying off.
He responded that his brother, eleven years younger, had done some research
and called him the other day to relate that he was the oldest Fraiser he
could find.
"And, how old are you?" I inquired.
"Im eighty-three."
It seemed difficult to believe that there were no Fraisers in the U.S. who
were older, but I didnt voice my skepticism. Mr. Fraiser went on to
tell me that he had been to Carroll County and Yazoo County searching for
family gravesites and was able to find a couple of ancestors buried in a
remote location near Yazoo City that had only four gravestones.
Somewhere in our brief conversation, I explained that I worked for SUPERVALU,
and that prompted him to ask if I knew James Hutcherson.
"Sure, I remember Mr. Hutch," I shared. "He may or may not remember me, but
I knew him."
"Hes my Sunday School teacher," he responded.
I was called to the payment window, and after settling the transaction for
the services rendered, I turned to say goodbye to Mr. Fraiser. He extended
his hand, and I shared for the first time, my name.
"Good to meet you, Mr. Carter," he stated. "Im Flip Fraiser,
but folks around here know me as Mr. Betty Fraiser."
He further stated his wife had served as Tax Assessor & Collector for
Sunflower County, and he was best known as her husband. I can sympathize
somewhat, as in recent years a lot of folks identify me as the husband of
the director of Habitat for Humanity.
"Ill be sure and tell Hutch that I met you," were his last words to
me.
"Thanks, and Ive enjoyed meeting you," I extended.
There are still a lot of veterans of The Big War, who like "Flip" Fraiser,
served and/or fought for their country, returned to build a better America
for their children, and who continue to live lives that belie their heroic
efforts and service. The least any of us can do for them is to listen to
their stories, learn by their example, and pass that knowledge to our children
and grandchildren.
Note: Jo Bennett, formerly of Indianola, Mississippi, supplied Mr.
Fraisers first name and the spelling of Fraiser. She also told me that
Betty Fraiser is deceased but had held public office for about a hundred
years [exaggeration] prior to her death.
Piano Recital
Dateline Belmont Mississippi
There are certain activities that follow parents into their years of
grand-parenting and great grand-parenting . Besides little league sports,
which for many is the reason God created life on earth, there are other events
that call grandparents to remember what it was they liked or disliked about
parenthood. Beauty pageants come quickly to mind at this point, but some
events are bearable in moderation. Im thinking here of piano recitals.
Barbara and I had the pleasure of attending twelve consecutive years of piano
recitals when our daughter was a student. Of course, Rayanne was so talented
that we viewed her recitals on par with that of classical greats such as
Mozart and Beethoven. Amazingly, she was not held in such high esteem by
everyone, but in our eyes and ears her playing was flawless. Even Jason,
her brother, who in his younger years hated having to endure Rayannes
practice sessions, refers to Rayanne as his parents "perfect child."
Yet, I have the feeling Jasons compliment is more sarcastic and caustic
than genuine. I can only imagine that when my ashes are scattered to the
four winds, my two children will still be jealously searching the archives
of this newsletter to discover who received the most favorable press and
whose name was mentioned the most. Let the record show they were loved equally,
but differently.
Now that our daughter is a piano teacher in Belmont, Mississippi, we are
always invited to the recitals of her students, and now that our middle
granddaughter, Merilese, is one of Rayannes piano students, we find
it especially important to attend the recitals of Rayannes students.
Last Sunday afternoon Rayanne held a recital for her twelve students at First
Baptist Church, Belmont.
As recitals go, this one was short. The program was roughly twenty minutes
in length, or about enough time for each student to perform one selection.
Musical selections were varied and included classics, popular American standards
and hymns. Our granddaughter played the hymn, "Purer In Heart, O God."
The twelve piano students were of various ages with differences spanning
perhaps five or six years. Some exhibited more poise and talent than others,
but all are to be commended for their efforts. Also, some had practiced harder
to master their selection than others had. As difficult as it is for some
young people to perform publicly, it is absolutely necessary to help them
gain confidence in their abilities and to lay the groundwork for a skill
that will last a lifetime.
Theres no way to know what the future holds, musically, for this crop
of piano students, but it could be that some will pursue a career that involves
music and there might even be one destined to become a piano teacher. After
all, the torch of musical knowledge and appreciation must be passed from
generation to generation.
Bodock Beau
Animal Humor
The Cajun dialect is a little hard to get through, but the punch line of
the following joke is worth the trouble.
Boudreaux & The Cotton Mouth
Boudreaux been fish'n down by de bayou in souf Mississippi all day an he
done run outta night crawlers. He be bout reddy to leave when he seen
a snake wit a big frog in his mouf. He knowed dat dem big bass fish
like frogs, so he decides to steal dat froggie.
Dat snake, he be a cotton moufed water moccasin, so Boudreaux had to be real
careful or he'd get bit. He snuk up behine de snake and grabbed him
roun de haid. Dat ole snake din't lak dat one bit. He squirmed
and wrapped hisself roun Boudreaux's arm try'n to get hisself free. But
Boudreaux, him, hada real good grip on his haid, yeh.
Well, Boudreaux pried his mouf open and got de frog and puts it in his bait
can. Now, Boudreaux knows dat he cain't let go dat snake or he's gonna
bite him good, but he had a plan.
He reach into de back pocket of his bib overhauls and pulls out a pint 'o
Missippippi corn likker. He pour some drops ito de snakes mouf. Well,
dat snake's eyeballs roll back in his haid and his body go limp. Wit dat,
Boudreaux toss dat snake into de bayou, den he goes back to fish'n.
A while later Boudreaux dun feel sumpin tappin' on his barefoot toe.
He slowly look down and dere be dat cotton moufed water moccasin, wif two
more frogs in his mouf.
Shared by Ralph Jones
Pinch Runner Needed
A horse showed up at a baseball training camp and asked for a tryout. The
manager was shocked! Not only was this a talking horse, but he wanted to
play baseball.
So he put the horse in the outfield, where the horse caught all the balls
hit to him. In the infield, he always made the right play.
When it came time to bat in a game, the horse hit a long line drive between
the outfielders. But then the horse just stood at the plate.
"Run!" the manager shouted. "Run!"
The horse turned to the manager and said, "If I could run, Id be at
the race track."
Laugh Letter Newsletter - April 2007
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