Tales from Toadsuck

TALES FROM TOADSUCK FREE PREVIEW PROLOGUE TOADSUCK HISTORY Toadsuck isn’t a town. It’s not even a village. It’s a place located on the bank of the Arkansas River. The tale of how Toadsuck came about has been passed down from generation to generation over the years. Several versions of the story exist. This is mine as told to me by my parents as a young child living in the area. Most of the counties in Arkansas are dry. You can’t buy anything alcoholic in a dry county, not even beer and wine. The (then) small town of Conway is located in the middle of a dry county. One of the goals of people living in a dry county is to get to one that’s wet. The line that separates the two counties in that area is the Arkansas River. One side of the river is dry, the other wet. The road that led from Conway to the wet county ended at the bank of the Arkansas River. A ferry had been installed there around 1850 that was large enough to take two wagons, their mules and drivers from one side to the other. The ferry became more than a way to cross the river. As automobiles became common in the area, the ferry developed into a weekend social event. Cars would wait in line for up to two hours for their turn to cross. Men stepped out of their cars to talk about their farms, crops and speculate on the weather. Fishing stories and tall tales could be told as the men gathered in small groups under shade trees that lined the road beside their parked cars. The trip across and back could take most of the day. It was weekend entertainment with a stop at the bar located on the wet bank of the river. The religious people of Conway were highly critical of this activity. They did not smoke or drink and were critical of people who did. The saying got around that a wild bunch would take the road north till they came to the river, took the ferry across and sat on a rail fence outside that bar, sucking corn liquor out of jugs till they swell up like toads. Over the years, that got reduced down to “TOADSUCK”. Some residents in the town of Conway where I lived called the name a disgrace. A college professor even suggested that it be changed but it didn’t happen. Today the name and the ferry are a part of the history of the area. Toadsuck for me was just one stop in the road as I traveled from town to town in Arkansas with my family. CHAPTER ONE THE MEN IN WHITE I stood beside the window looking out at the road as an unmarked white van with no windows turned the corner, drifted down the street and stopped in front of our house. Two men, both over six feet tall wearing knee length white smocks with short sleeves stepped out and slammed their doors. The driver looked at my house, nodded and they crossed the lawn toward our porch. Dad was in the house but not in the living room. I was watching from the window and as the men reached the porch I called, “Dad, some men are coming.” The driver mounted the steps and stopped at our front door. A mop of salted black hair hung below a white hospital cap with a small bill, shading eyes that were too close together and in constant motion. Pockmarked cheeks and thin lips over a wattle neck were imposing and I released the curtain to avoid being seen. He stepped to the door, made a fist with his right hand and pounded hard as Dad came into the room. Frightened by all of this, I moved away from the window to the back of the room. Dad opened the door and the driver, without smiling said, “We’re from the hospital and have come to pick up Alice Black. Is she here?” “She’s in the back bedroom,” Dad answered. “Come on in.” He pointed to the hall leading to the back of the house. I didn’t know that Dad had called the hospital and arranged to have her committed. She had been acting strange for some time, with long periods in her bedroom behind her closed door. The screams started several weeks ago and as time passed, increased in volume. I was too young to really understand the problem but knew that things were not right. Screams from her room were so loud the neighbors complained to the police. After each scream she would yell, “I’m going crazy! I’m going crazy!” It had been going on for several weeks and the volume increased as Mom groaned at the end of each tirade. According to the police, the neighbors complained that the groans were as loud as her screams. The men in white crossed the living room and Dad led them down the hall to the bedroom. I did not understand what was happening and waited for them to return. Mom’s screaming grew louder as the men dragged her down the hall, one on each arm so that she could not escape. She looked tiny between them but was kicking and screaming, “Let me go! Let me go!” As they walked to the door, I shouted, “You let my mom go!” I jumped at the driver, clamping my teeth onto his forearm. The driver yelled, “Ahhhh, I’m just doing my job!” He knocked me into the wall where I fell to the floor. In a daze, Dad stood behind the men, then recovered and tried to reach out to me. He had been drinking early in the day and was too slow. I jumped up, ran at the man again and screamed, “You let her go!” This time the driver was ready with a strong backhand to my ribs that slammed me into the wall again. Light flashed in my eyes and I couldn’t breathe. I fell to the floor shaking my head in an attempt to catch my breath. The room was spinning and I could not get up. Dad was beside me, lifted me by the arm and said, “Let her go, son. She has to go to the hospital.” I squirmed but could not get loose. The men left the room followed by Dad and me as they walked to the van to place Mom inside. I gulped air and jerked my arm away from Dad. The men opened the rear doors to the van. Inside was a cage with a wire barrier that restricted access to anyone in the front seats. A wooden bench was bolted to one wall. The remainder of the van was empty. The men lifted my mother into the van and pushed her forward as she screamed to let her go, again and again. As she fell to the floor, the driver slammed the doors, produced a key and locked them shut. Several neighbors came outside but remained on their porches, watching the events. Dad remained silent as I stood by breathing in gulps as tears ran down my face. My vision blurred with more tears as they drove away with Mom inside. Dad put his arm around my shoulders, pulled me close and said, “Let’s go inside, son.” CHAPTER ELEVEN BARBER SHOP TALK A stop at the general store was required, but a small part of the evening. The wagon emptied as it reached the store; it’s passengers on their way to an enjoyable night with friends from other farms. The small town was alive with people. It was a warm night and social activity would be outside. I stepped inside the store and breathed in its unique smell. Farm implements lined the left wall. Ten foot long rectangular tables in the center of the room were piled high with clothing, boxed shoes and round bolts of cloth in every color imaginable. A seven foot high cast iron pot belly stove rested in the center of the back wall and was surrounded by chairs and wood crates sitting at odd angles. The counter on the right wall stopped at a glass display case filled with candy. I walked to the case and gawked at the rainbow of colors in search of my selection. The store clerk gave me time to look, then said, “Can I help you, son?” “Yes, sir,” I answered. “I would like to buy some red lickerish.” “How much money do you have?” the clerk asked. “Fifteen cents.” “Okay, fifteen cents worth of lickerish it’ll be,” he said, while opening the back of the case to count out the correct number of pieces. I placed my fifteen cents on the counter as he folded the sticks in half and slipped them in a small paper sack. I went outside and decided to enjoy my first taste of the candy. Several men sat on the steps in front of the store talking. Others gathered in groups on