Somewhere among my family members there is a scroll that my paternal aunt Macy made that details the Williams family tree. She provided her research to a professor from Moorehead State College. He was writing a history of the families of Morgan County, Kentucky, which is where both my father and mother were born. That book, which is in my oldest sister’s possession, traces the roots of both my mother and father’s families back to the first known ancestors in America. Interesting stuff, for me anyway.
Summarizing and hitting the highlights of the chapter of that book regarding the Williams clan, there was a man name Thomas Williams who signed the Mayflower Compact AND there was a man named Robert Williams in the Jamestown colony. So, in effect, there are two branches of my family that converge, merge and intermingle in Kentucky. That in itself should come as no surprise, as there is a lot of truth in the old joke about Kentucky’s total population residing in 13 or so family names.
Edward Williams fought in the revolution and in compensation for his service was granted land in what is now Morgan County, KY. In fact, the land was actually all of the county and more. Over time that fact changed as progeny was granted this or that parcel and, along the way, many lost their Deeds in exchange for settling debts and wagers. Edward also founded West Liberty, the county seat. And, Edward, who became ordained, has the distinction of founding the Baptist Church in Kentucky. Daniel Boone, who was also an ordained minister, presided over Edward’s marriage.
Another of my direct ancestors was the half brother of Jefferson Davis, the President of the Confederate States of America. If that isn’t a Redneck credential, I don’t know one. Yes, I come from a long and not always distinguished line of hicks and hillbillies.
Otherwise, my family’s history is pretty-much ordinary fare. My parents, Bruce and Alta were born in 1914 and 1917, respectively. Both were born in the month of April, though Mom was Aries and Dad was Taurus, like me. They grew up a few miles apart, and basically on opposite sides of a hill. Before they married in 1935, in the midst of The Great Depression, Dad worked for the Civilian Conservation Corps in Appalachia.
In order to find work as a farm hand, Dad left Mom behind in Kentucky. He crossed the Ohio River, eventually finding a position on a farm near Columbus. Both he and Mom saved what money they could so that she could join him about a year later. They set up housekeeping in a chicken coop that the farmer for whom Dad worked allowed him to use and in May of 1936, my brother Barris was born.
The conditions of my immediate family’s origins were austere. They struggled and suffered against the economic realities of the times. Their poverty undoubtedly contributed to Barris’ poor and failing health. But certainly, their lack of funds prevented proper medical care.
Dad was constantly looking to improve their lot. He found a farm to manage near the small village of Selma, close to the town of South Charleston, Ohio. Although he would return for a time to work for his previous employer, eventually he would settle the family near that southeastern Clark County community.
Barris died in March of 1945. It has been a matter of some discussion between my siblings and I, but had he not passed away it is very possible that neither my sisters nor I, would have ever been born.
It is my belief that both my sisters were attempts to replace Barris. The important thing to my father was to pass on the family name to a male heir. Joyce was born in February 1947. Genette was born in January 1952. And after the delivery of her third child, Mom decided not to have another. Yet, in the Summer of 1955 she changed her mind and I was conceived. In May 1956, I was born.
I’m not saying that everything culminated in my birth. It just happened that I was the last and always youngest child.
Like many who grew up in The Great Depression, my parents saved money. Before I was born they had already begun savings accounts for my sisters, intending them to have a level of education of which Mom and Dad only dreamed. Dad attended 9th grade. Mom completed the 8th grade. So, the first imperative was that all their children would graduate from high school. The ultimate goal was to have their children receive college degrees.
Another goal my father had for the family was realized in 1957 when he moved us into a new house that his carpenter cousins from Kentucky constructed on a 2-acre parcel of land that he purchased from his employer along US 42. Eight or so years later he would realize another major goal, buying his own farm, which was located on Jamestown Road about two miles from South Charleston.
When I was little, Dad used to talk about moving out west. California, Arizona and Texas were all often discussed as ultimate destinations. It had a lot to do with Dad’s obsession with Westerns. Dad loved reading pulp fiction novels and, as the genre dominated early TV, his interest in the past continued. And, Dad was proud of his Native American heritage, claiming a female ancestor a few generations back that he figured made him 1/8th Blackfoot. His interest also led him to collect relics and artifacts that the original occupants of our land left behind as arrowheads, spear tips and other stone implements unearthed whenever we tilled the soil. Years later, when Dad retired, he would buy a house in Mission, Texas where he and my mother would live for a few years before finally settling in Pinellas County, Florida.
I mention all of this as context and background. Some of it influenced my writing, of course. How could it not? Many people who know me had decided that Brent Woods in Fried Windows is something of an alter ego. Though he does things I would never do, stuff I might have thought of doing, here's a grain of truth in that. Also the focus of my stories is conversation and relationships. One’s family background is key to forming a foundation for how an author views humanity and interpersonal interactions. In a very profound way, we are the sum of our experiences and linked to everyone who came before us. It is, therefore, natural that my roots are reflected in my writing.
BECOMING THUPERMAN is set in the Midwest. In some ways it is about what I perceived of the family relationships of others I knew, town kids. Like Will I participated in Little League and I dreamed of being a pitcher. Unlike him, my talent never fully developed. My sisters will tell you that there was a time when I would don a cape and mask and become a superhero--in my own mind, anyway.