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About The Author
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About The Author


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Yep!  I was born in Arkansas.

Yep!  I was born '51 and grew up in an era when being poor was simply a state of being: we didn't know we were poor.  But we did know about honesty, integrity, hard work; God, family and country.

Yep!  I know all about outhouses, and cotton stalk tea, and corn-cob fights, and BB gun fights, fighting wasps, snakes and yellow jackets and bumble bees.

Yep!  I know all about white soup beans cooked with a big ol' hambone, home canned blackeye peas, fried taters, cornbread, lard in a 5-gallon can, flour in a 20lb. cloth bag.

Yep!  I know all about running to the storm shelter in the middle of the night, lightening and thunder so close it felt like it was in the house with you.

Yep!  I know all about running barefooted pushing hoops with a stick, stubbing your toes until the skin was torn down to the bottom.

Yep!  I know all about playing cowboys and Indians when and if you could settle who was going to be Pancho or Cisco, or The Lone Ranger and Tonto, or Matt Dillan, or his sidekick, Chester.  Many times a fight would determine who was gonna be the tough guy.

Yep!  I know all about chopping cotton, picking cotton, throwing cotton boles, getting a dose of cotton stalk tea, getting back to picking cotton with the intensity that some described as "seeing nothing but 'a'holes and elbows," (usually after a good dose of cotton stalk tea . . .), pulling boles, shredding cotton stalks, eating watermelon in the field, tractor driving, and going to the store for a sodi-pop and a candy bar on a tractor with kids hanging all over it . . .

It was much harder heading back to Grandpa's trying to hang on and keep control of your sodi-pop . . .

Yep!  I know all about going to Grandpa and Grandma's house for Sunday dinner, or Easter Sunday, and all the cousins (from eight boys and two girls) all a gettin' into trouble at the same time for throwing Easter eggs.

Yep!  I know all about adults eating first, then the kids got what was left.  I knew what it was to get slapped off my chair simply because I'd irreverenced and elder.

Yep!  I know all about working from sun-up 'til sun-down for five and a half days, then get a quarter (then graduated to a dollar at age 10), to spend any way I wished in town on Saturday night.

George Cavaness Jr. circa 1996

Yep!  I know all about riding into town in the back of Grandpas' truck with a passel of cousins, each with a weeks earnings in their pocket.  Then, mingling with a million (well, maybe not a million . . . but a lot!), of other kids and families who'd also come into town to do the shopping for the next week, or for the town drawing, or for the men to discuss weather, crops, crop prices, farm equipment, whether the new John Deere's were gonna pull any better than the old ones, whether or not to defoliate this year . . .

I could go on and on about Saturday nights.  You could get a sodi-pop (Dr. Pepper in a bottle), a giggle bar (Snickers), a movie (The Lone Ranger), and still have money left over!  Usually that went for BB's or caps for our cap pistols.

We was just plain folks, hard working, poor, proud, happy, contented and honest.  Someone intrigued by my accent asked me what nationality my last name was, and I answered "Full blood Hillbilly!"  But I'd better quit rambling if I'm gonna introduce myself to you!

The accent is real.  The talk about good times, and hard times . . . all real.  So are the stories.  I have changed the names to prohibit genuine embarrassment (ever wonder how that word came to be?), and the humiliation of some of the incidents listed here.

But, what's up with the "Sir George" and all the armour?  That is just a holdover from my childhood days of rescuing fair maidens in distress, it looks good and, what else can you do with a name like George!

That's one of the things I love about the net.  I can be myself without someone telling me "GROW UP!" I am now finished with my 50's and getting close to my 70th year, and I'm thoroughly enjoying the second half of my childhood!  Notice I didn't say my second childhood . . . you see, I never grew up!  Heck no!  Why, I still get down in the floor and play trains with my grandchildren!  I've even been known to wear one of the granddaughters hats and play dolls with em!

george-n-judy-cavaness-92814

So, if you're one of those "grownups" who like only "grownup things," you needn't read any further in this section!  I am dedicating this section to all kids in adult bodies all over the world who are still young at heart!

Heck, when I get rich, I'm gonna buy (or perhaps build) a real live choo choo train with some rail cars (quarter-size).  Me and my grandkids are gonna have one heck of a good time!

Only recently have I began recording these stories for posterity.  (Purty big word for an 'ol hillbilly!)  After much coaxing of my lovely, angelic wife of 48 years and my kids (those are children by the way), I have begun.

Who in the world would want to read these stories is beyond me.  Hopefully, they will liven (pronounced with long i), up somebody's day and perhaps inspire some of my cousins to write their own stories of when they were a 'Little Boy or Girl in Arkansas . . .'

It's mandatory that I grow old . . . but at least I don't have to grow up!  I'll be a kid and a pushover for my grandchildren till I go to that big Arkansas in the sky . . .

George Cavaness
10-09-1994



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