How It Started (Part II)
How It Started (Part II)
(Readers who may have missed “How It Started (Part I)” can read it in the previous “Making Bad Decisions” post.)
I was born on stage. Under the bright lights. In front of a standing room only crowd.
And in a place of triangles.
The hospital in downtown Birmingham belonged to the University of Alabama. It housed the medical school. And the nursing school. It was a teaching hospital.
My mother was admitted through the emergency room.
It must have been a slow night.
The arrival of an emergency delivery was big news. And the news traveled fast.
My mother was wheeled into an operating theatre. She was joined there by every nursing student, medical student, resident, fellow and attending on call and available. The place was packed.
All these strangers.
My maternal grandmother was incensed by the indignity of it.
I may have been early. But the delivery was uneventful.
And I was as healthy as could be.
Now what?
If you drew a line northeast from that hospital, in a few blocks you’d hit the Redmont Hotel.
A few years earlier, 29 year old Hank Williams spent his last night on earth at the Redmont Hotel. He’d been denied entry at other hotels that evening because of his condition. They say his spirit still lingers there.
If you drew a line west from the Redmont Hotel, in a few blocks you’d hit the 16th Street Baptist Church.
A few months earlier, white supremacists bombed this pillar of the civil rights movement. 14 year olds Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson and 11 year old Carol Denise McNair were killed in their Sunday school class. Their spirits will never let us forget.
And if you drew a line southeast from the 16th Street Baptist Church, in a few blocks you’d be back at the hospital in downtown Birmingham where I’d just been born.
A triangle. None of the sides a mile long. And I was in it.
There were other triangles around me. In every direction.
Birmingham was the only place on earth where there were infinite deposits of iron ore, coal and limestone in the ground. Iron ore, coal and limestone. The three necessary ingredients for making the most important engineering and construction material in history: Steel.
When my father arrived at the hospital (after waiting most of the morning for the Baton Rouge Airport to open), I was in the presence of the three separate couples who would have the most profound effect on me. A triangle unlike any other. My parents, my maternal grandparents, and my paternal grandparents.
My parents met as teenagers. George and Joy were high school sweethearts at Ensley High School in Birmingham. Married at 22. And now parents at 25.
My dad was the only college graduate in the room.
My maternal grandparents met as adults.
My maternal grandfather, Earl, was one of the first police officers ever hired by the City of Birmingham. At that time the department had only one automobile. And my grandfather was hired because of his imposing physical size and stern demeanor.
Earl met my maternal grandmother, Lillian, after she was disowned by her family during the Great Depression. Lillian and Earl had three babies in the first three years of their marriage. (My mom was third after Carol and Buddy.) Three babies in three years left Lillian insane.
And Lillian’s brother was a notorious criminal deservedly serving time in the Alabama State Penitentiary.
My paternal grandparents also met as adults.
My paternal grandfather, Haywood, dropped out of elementary school in order to unload railroad cars by hand for a nickel a day. He eventually went to work in the brand new steel mills in Birmingham.
My paternal grandmother, Ruby, was born on a large farm. Her family was very wealthy. Until they lost everything in the Great Depression. Ruby was working as a Musician when she met Haywood. They had two sons. My dad and his younger brother Jim. Jim was also a professional Musician.
Everyone called my paternal grandfather “Hi-Hoo” because that’s how one of his nephews (as a child) pronounced “Haywood.” And it stuck.
Everyone called my maternal grandfather “Red” because of his unmistakable head of flaming red hair. And it stuck.
Now they all found themselves in circumstances they did not expect.
Six weeks early.
The wrong hospital.
And, not to be overlooked, this triangle of three couples — Joy and George, Lillian and Red, Ruby and Hi-Hoo — were stuck with me.
. . . .
To be continued.
. . . .
Thank you for reading.
I appreciate it.
. . . .
Please subscribe to “Making Bad Decisions” so you never miss a true story from the life of a man who did some things.