James Ralph Birmingham's Obituary
James Ralph Birmingham (Jim Birmingham or “J.B.”) was born of Walter Otis Birmingham and Lena Mae Hill Birmingham on February 1, 1918, and had six siblings, Rebecca Dooley, Lorene Daniel, Burlah Salyer, Ruth Overton, Lena Blair, and Hal Birmingham. He is survived by his sister, Ruth Overton. A handout tells the story in some detail on what it was like for him in his early years in Tennessee.Before retiring to the Florida Keys, Jim Birmingham was a hard worker. After working as a farmer at home, and on the Civilian Conservation Corp, he went on to work for Ben Pearson Arrow Company, Ingersoll-Waterbury Watch Company (they made Mickey Mouse watches), and went on to found Excel Tool and Die in Paramount, California. Inspired by his sister, Rebecca, he even had a nightclub for a couple of years.Known as “J.B.” to friends in the Florida Keys, was a man of the outdoors, interested in hunting, fishing, and diving. He was Commodore of Venture Out Boat Club for two years and will always be remembered for allowing women to join, and having free beer at meetings. He had a deep interest in people and made many life long friends.Jim was a proud father, grandfather and great grandfather. During his life he imparted many experiences and cherished memories to his five children: the late Barbara Bergren, Betty Garcia, James R. Birmingham, Jr., the late Beverly Birmingham and Rebecca “Reba” Birmingham, and his grandchildren, Zach Birmingham, Jeff Bergren, Joanne Minsky, Kim Garcia, and his greatgrandchildren. He was preceded in death by his wife of many years, Gladys Birmingham in 2012. Visitation will begin at 1:30 p.m. and funeral services will follow at 2:30 p.m., Wednesday, March 15 at Memorial Park Funeral Home and Cemetery, Memphis, TN. Graveside services will be 10 a.m., Thursday, March 16 at Corinth Cemetery, Darden, TN.JB’s StoryDad was born in his maternal grandfather’s big long log home, with a kitchen and living room on one end, a long hall in between and bedrooms on the other end February 1, 1918 in Henderson County, Tennessee. Back in those days, they would have a neighborhood or the dad would come up with enough lumber for you to build a home. They would sketch it up, the women would cook the meals, neighbors would come over and assign jobs. They would put up a house before you knew it. Dad heard his first radio at six or seven years old 1924/25. Back in those days it was Fibber McGee and Molly, the Lone Ranger. . . then later the singing cowboy, Gene Autry. There was a mystery program, The Green Hornet There was an army pensioner in the Tenn. Neighborhood and the pension made him the house he grew up in, there was no telephone or running water. He was already gone before the Tennessee Valley Authority brought in electricity. The Sears catalogue was toilet paper, Dad lived there till about 6th grade, then he moved to Crockett County. The house in Crockett county was on Thompson’s farm. He owned the furniture in Alamo. It was two miles from Alamo, the County seat. The next closest neighbors were the Burnetts. Father, three sons and a daughter. Other was the middle guy that got Dad into Chicago later. Burnett was a Bible thumper, all I never saw him do was read the Bible. He was the workingest old man, he worked himself to death. I saw him come in from work in the hot Summer weather wet with sweat and blood running down his pants legs from his hemorrhoids. It was rough back then. He was vicious. There was a lot of fussing and fighting and there was a hillbilly party that sometimes turned into a riot. There was a lot of mean people that lived in that area. It was a dry county, but whiskey flowed like water. It wasn’t unusual for somebody to get killed in a knife fight. I went to an ice cream social where they had music and dancing (at fourteen). This little guy stabbed a guy in the neck and just missed his jugular vein. That was in 1935. A bootlegger put pressure on his neck and rushed him to the doctor. I heard the old man talk about certain guys. . . he says if you run into, don’t hesitate to slice them. Left home at 14 for almost a year, went to his grandfathers. Went to the Tennnessee Valley Authority to get a job, but they wouldn’t take his application because he was so young. What could he do? He was a farmer. Grew up in Henderson County until 11 and then moved to Crocket County, where father’s folks lived. At the time at 11 Dad’s father was sort of a character. He was going to go down and rent a place, he was so sure that it would be all ready—he would have the pick of the place. It was 70 miles away and they had a covered wagon and two mules. Walter Otis Birmingham put the barrel top over the top of the wagon like the pioneers. He wanted me to stay there and take care of the family. My mother persuaded him to let me go. The most spectacular thing was staying overnight at a little village. It was a colored neighborhood. We unhitched the team and bought food and feed for the mules. It was a Saturday night party, the black folks came around and cussed and fought all night. We were scared, but it was exciting. I met some of my father’s relatives I have never met before. We rented a farm and I farmed there until I was sixteen. I started working on farm as soon as I could reach the plough handles. By the time I was eleven I was a pretty good hand. We raised cotton, vegetables (truck farming—cucumbers, squash, watermelon pole and butter beans for the market. In Crocket we raised it pretty much just for ourselves. I liked it, but my dad’s outlook on life was opposite. He was a guy that didn’t believe in education, thought it was a waste of time. Dad never could participate in sports, he wanted to stay after school and practice with the team but there was {Too much damn work, come home” They lived on a big farm with a lot of timber, some of which was available for thinning out. Everybody had a fireplace. Dad used to work in the winter time during vacations and weekends and went to grade school at [Henderson to Crocket it was 6th through 8th grade. It was two miles to Quincy school where I went through. It was four miles to Quincy School the High school. I walked, my shoes we managed to get (cotton was the cash crop as a rule) In the fall we always would buy our clothes for the year. We wore practically nothing but overalls and had one pair of church shoes and a pair of work shoes each. You tried to make them last from Fall to Fall. I guess I was vain or something, I would buy my shoes too damn small for me in the first place. By the next year my toes were busting through the shoes. The last fall I farmed, we lived four miles from Alamo, where the cotton gin was. You brought your cotton to be ginned in 500 lb bales. They would buy the seed or you would take seed back to replant the next year. It got cold in Tennessee and I was barefoot. There was a big line and we had a long time to wait Some guy I knew I asked to take care of the team so I could go back to the stores (I was sixteen) with my overalls on. The major town was the county seat. There was always one clothing store. Every one of those (ever) had a Jewish proprietor. Lewis Dry Good Store was run by a good man, Jewish. It was getting late. I was leaning up against the window watching the people go by, I don’t know if he come out just to talk, he looked down and said “Do you have any shoes?” I said “No yes, sir, I’m not cold, I just like to go barefoot.” I was embarrassed, I hadn’t sold the cotton yet and didn’t buy my shoes yet. Went into the CCC, the Civilian Conservation Corp that next year. FDR was president (he was elected in 1932) It was one of the greatest contributions he made to the economy and the people back then. Unemployment was rampant. Folks just couldn’t make ends meet on their own. The government subsidized farmers to hold prices up, and had a public works program for the old people. The CC camps were for the younger but some old people got in there. I worked there for eleven months. In my area in Middle Tennessee (Northern Part-Hilly Country) They did re-forestation, irrigation, terracing of land to avoid soil erosion, built roads and answered any bad storms. I had one stint on the Mississippi river carrying sand bags. The driver for our truck didn’t show up. The leader of our squad asked “Is there anybody in the crowd who can drive a truck?” I had never driven a truck in my life, but I had watched. I had driven a car. I damn near rammed the back of another truck and he pulled me out. We were bedded down in some kind of an old building. As luck would have it, after we got down there, I got a sore throat (I’m sure it was tonsillitis) We had a First Aid boy Job equipped with First Aid supplies. I didn’t have to work two or three days. We had a crew that carried down below the city. Cooks stayed up in the town where we were camped. To take the food to the workers at noon there were little 18 foot river flatbed boats (John boats) with a small engine. There were logs in trucks. Everything was going fine. There was a log underneath the water I didn’t see. I was gutsy but nervous and wasn’t anxious to swim in that roiling water. He went back up to the front of the boat and pulled out his coat. He got booze and chugged it. He got some tools out and fixed it but meantime the boat was whirling around. I went back in one of the trucks. Job pronounced me with the Mumps. They had a van there they used for an ambulance and sent me to Memphis and put me in St Joseph hospital (was there a week). Sure was lucky to miss the work of carrying the sand bags. Got to rest in a nice warm clean hospital where the nurses pampered us a little to. A hundred and seventy five miles back to camp. Anyways Summer time come and it warmed up a little bit. It was April when we went to Chicago. Dad and Luther went to Chicago caught a freight train out of Humbolt Tenn. We rode that till it sidetracked then got off and picked another one. We got side tracked in Bolin Green Kentucky till we found a coal tender car. There were a couple of tunnels between Bowling Green and Louisville. That’s where we rode, that was the last freight train we “blinded the train.” You had to wait till the train was moving. The engineer sits between the coal car and the engine. You wait until they get busy and turn their back, then you slip into the boardwalk right behind the engine. The platform that was just a step up from the ground and hung onto the iron bars. I didn’t realize the train went through tunnels. Two mountains, four or five miles through. The top would scrape off and I was a black as can be standing on that platform. The train is almost hitting the ceiling of the tunnel. All the smoke and cinder hit the ceiling and flowed back over us. It got in our eyes and nose, I didn’t have no glasses. Those were pretty big engines with a lot of horse power, it was very loud. We took a week to get to Chicago, winding up at 2:00 o’clock not knowing where we were. Didn’t have enough clothes, it was cold. I got up first and then Luther woke up. The box cars were open. I saw a light and assumed it was the depot. We took up our little bags. Between us we had just a few pieces of silver, less than a dollar a piece. The only guy at the station was either a rail road dick or a police detective. I approached him and asked where I could get a cup of coffee. He said “Tell you what, I want one myself, come on with me.” We walked on either side and no one was saying anything. We stopped in front of a big light and it was the police station. He said “Sargeant I got a couple of boys for you to check out.” The old sergeant looked up and asked our names. It was warm. He took our names and asked us where we were from and who the Sheriff was. We knew. Old Kenny Montegue. We called him slew foot Kenny because he had a broken leg and they didn’t fix it good. We were kind of glad to be locked up because it was better than outside. There were no blankets. We both immediately went sound asleep. The next morning I heard the pan with food under the bars. We kept waiting for ours but it never did come. They opened up and the same old sergeant was on duty. I checked you out and much to my surprise it was all accurate. The Sheriff said you were not in trouble. Where do we get to Elgin from here? (The dairy company) You could go to the coffee shop. We spent 15 cents for the L train to Elgin and had it worked out how to find Other when we got to Chicago. He knew we were coming on the freight train and said come to an El an get a ticket to Ellgin, that’s the town I run my milk truck through. There’s a big Elgin factory where they make the watches, a lot of the workers ride the El Train. Get a seat and sit on that bench. I cross at 10:15 every morning. I cross it again in the afternoon. It wasn’t as far as I thought it would be. Had just enough for a cup of coffee, and were hungry as wolves. The milk truck came, but it was cold inside. I never drank so much half and half in my life. He got Luther a job at the dairy, it was still in the morning. The farmers came in and sold their milk to this dairy. He got ahold of a couple of drivers and asked if they needed somebody. A young fellow talked to me a little bit and asked me if I’d ever milked a cow. We tried to keep two cows on the farm. I thought I could do two cows so I can do this. It was a mother daughter and son (Harvey 26) the Meyers. He wasn’t much bigger than I was. I thought we worked hard down in Tennessee they worked harder than I ever seen. Unfortunatey, their house was right by the road and the land sloped down hill where their sewer drain run. It was a hand pump, no indoor plumbing, but they had a fireplace. Sewer stopped up and they had no instruments to see where it was plugged up. We just had to start digging. We practically dug up the back yard before we found the damn thing. Every time he would throw a shovel of dirt I would throw a shovel of dirt. One good thing they did feed good. German style cooking. The grandmother was a good cook. She still spoke pretty bad English but the girl and the boy spoke pretty good they all spoke German to themselves. We had lunch, in the middle of the afternoon they brought us out another lunch. They had six meals a day. 2:30 or 3:00 they would bring out some food. Having had that freight car, not having had enough to eat, exhausted, trying to work like that tough nut was about to kill me. After that, we went out to milk the cows. They line the cows up on each side and there is a space big enough to pick up the shit. 32 on each side. Harvey said “you take this side and I’ll take this side” We did it by hand. I grabbed a bucket, he was finished before I started good. Esther was watching and she saw I was in trouble. She grabbed the bucket and said “I’ll give you a hand.” He outdid both of us. By that time it was eight o’clock at night. He put me on the second floor. He said we get up at 4:30 in the morning I’ll call you. I never had a bed that felt so good, my head was asleep before I hit the pillow. When I woke the sun was up and I thought “I’ve lot my job” The mother finally woke me up, she had trouble waking me up, I didn’t know what to say, I reached down to pick up my pants and I couldn’t. My hands were like sausages. The mom had hot water with salt. It took about three pans to get the swelling down. They had the milking done, it was already on the truck. I am apologizing like crazy, didn’t know how I could be so dead. I thought he was going to dump me off, I tried to explain who I was and where I was from. He was kind. I only worked there one month but we created a friendship that lasted years and years. Luther’s girlfriend’s brother got me a job. I got $30/month on the farm and now I was going to get 37 cents an hour.GANDY DANCERThe next greeting I got was driving up to Des Plaines where I got on the caboose with the Roadmaster, Gust says “Here’s your man.” Old Conner was standing there. I said “Good morning sir” He never said a damn word. We rode to the work site “Hey Art here’s your man.” I said “Good morning, sir.” He looked me right in the eye with what seemed like forever. He said “How old are you kid” I said “21” He said “You are a god damned liar.” “I said, no I am.” He said “Cut the bullshit.” He paired me up with a 6 foot tall Pollock. He was bucking for a foreman’s job an was working hard. My job was to pack in the dirt and gravel underneath the cross ties (we were taking out the rotten ones and putting in new ones) They you had to nail them to the track. The foreman and the big Pollock, He was pounding the hell out of it. Later on in the afternoon he started slowing up. When he slowed up I speeded up. There was no way he was going to burn me out. Him and the foreman were driving the spikes. The foreman could hit that spike every time. I’ve been working in timber, and working a sledge hammer was different from that. Art Nissell was the foreman. “Kid, can you use a hammer?” “Doyle, give him your hammer.” The foreman had almost had his leg hit Luckily enough I’d had enough experience doing that I had a little practice he his one I hit two Luck was with e. I hit that suckin thing every time That really cooked old guy’s attitude, but he became my best friend . Peanuts the Mexican was heavy set and Doyle was a Dane.In Henderson County we had very few black families. There was one family that had twelve kids. She done the housework and work right up until the baby was born. They claimed she had a baby in the cotton field one time. Della Hayes.
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