My favorite Madison eccentric was Pompey Cardwell, or Mack-Pete, or Rodger- Dodger. Pompey was deified by Jerry Bledsoe later in the Greensboro Newspaper.
I knew who he was but Deems was there later at the right time. Deems es- caped death in Vietnam but came back a little shaken. He, also fascinated by characters, became a disciple of the Rodger-Dodger Foundation of Madison , and it’s spiritual leader, P. Cardwell. Pompey called and was called by many simply, “Mack-Pete” because he couldn’t remember names. The Rodger-Dodger club was formed by children who gave him their picture and a penny. These were posted in the tobacco warehouse where he lived on a bunk. He had rhymes (“If you’re ever up a tree, call on me”). Rodger-Dodger with the two finger circle sign. (“If you’re ever down a well, just ring my bell – Rodger-Dodger.”)
Deems and Mack-Pete salvaged the Patovi Theartre seats when it closed, and located them by the river, where they mediated aided by various chemicals.
Jerry Bledsoe was stricken, too, by Pompey and wrote often about Pompey and his dog, Skipper, would go to the poolroom and pick up and deliver two Miller High Lifes in a paper bag. Pompey dressed Skipper in various attire, Santa Claus suit at Christmas, sailor suits, sunglasses or whatever.
We Rodger-Dodgers are aging now, but Pompey lives on.
Here’s Pompey’s signature story: A little village outside of Madison is named
Sandy Ridge, NC. Not much to it.
Pompey swore he got married at 17 years old, panicked and left town the next
day for the World’s Fair in Chicago.
His buddies talked him into going to a Chicago Whorehouse. When he asked the
woman what the deal was she replied (1937 remember?) $3, $5 all night, and $10 for “Around the World”. Pompey had some wedding money and decided what the heck!
Instructed to strip he watched as she kissed his fingers, his arms, his shoulders, ears, neck. Then down to his lower legs, knees, thighs, inner thighs ———- Pompey said he finally told the girl “…lady you may be going around the world, but it looks like I’m getting off at Sandy Ridge.”
Author: ethomasparham
SAVING TUDDY
Tuddy died on me. Though he was a year younger, he lost his last tough battle. I was asked to speak about him during our childhood in Madison, NC. We were seldom apart.
In the process of examining this period (1944-52) at ages 4-12, something personal dawned on me.
At age 74 memory becomes an issue. However, one of my memories is quite vivid today. My Father was Baptist minister and, while a mild man, he was serious.
The scene is US220 (main street thru Madison) beyond the Presbyterian church. It is nighttime and we are door to door “evangelizing”. I am about eight years old, and I DO NOT like doing this!
It’s tough at that age to tell a father like mine “I DON’T WANT TO DO THAT AGAIN”.
As a matter of fact, I DIDN’T.
Looking back, while preparing my Tuddy-talk, I think I concluded I’d fulfill MY quota by saving Tuddy. Maybe even several of the Websters.
As I mentioned, we were inseparable. Homes too. Normal for me was the austere parsonage we lived in. Small, plain, with the tacit understanding we had the “…way, the truth, and the light.” MANIFEST DESTINY: TUDDY FIRST. 216 Hunter Street was different. Dark, rich colored furniture, lots space. BUT — there were beer bottles in the house. SF(the father) and Irene (mother) both smoked Lucky Strike CIGARETTES. While they all seemed en route to hell’s fire, I did realize Irene was gorgeous and made me tingle. Looked like Ava Gardner, blowing sexy smoke rings through deep red lipstick..LIPSTICK. And I perceived, or thought I perceived, an unspoken agreement with her that Tuddy NEEDED some saving.
Accident prone,never missed or won a fist fight, disheveled in any attire, somehow lovable Tuddy. We fought everyday. He, left-handed, had the boxing glove of that orientation. (Wouldn’t you’d know he’d be left-handed?). I had the right glove. WHOP,WHOP, no ducking. After every fight or accident I’d take him to Hunter Street and Irene. She would look at me with mixed suspicion and understanding gratitude, as he cried tears, often accompanied with other fluids, i.e. blood, snot, or pee.
I OFTEN talked to him in commands (having accepted my role in his salvation): “Tuddy, blow your damn nose!” Or, “…you can’t wear that nasty shirt.” My sister,Gerry,said “no stripes with checks”,”no browns with blacks”, etc. Rules he violated throughout adulthood and without concern.
There was a compounding factor. BILLY FULTON, the third of the three muskateers, or “Tommy, Tuddy, Billy. “Fulton” was pathological liar and had a “pornographical memory”. Devil sent, I was convinced, not what Tuddy needed. The daily highlight Billy created with two challenges: (1)”I BET YOU CAN’T…” and (2) “I DARE YOU TO…” Manipulation directed at Tuddy.
This would result in my admontion, “Tuddy, you idiot, don’t try that!” That would cause us to fight, and then a trip to Irene, Billy laughing at us.
Somehow I instinctively knew I couldn’t save Fulton. And I was right.
There was another easier cause. Tuddy told us he had a brother. “What is his name? Deems. “What is his real name,” I insisted. “Deems” Tuddy said. “Deems Bourne Webster. And my REAL name is STERLING!? ME: Bullshit, your name is Tuddy. Always will be” Tuddy”: I’m telling you my name is Sterling Fountain Webster, the third!”
“FOUNTAIN? THE THIRD? Who the hell is naming people up there? We can’t have names like than in our group. The next thing you know they’ll want to name somebody Xavier,
or Reginald, or some other ridiculous crap!”
My Father accepted a job in another town and Tuddy became Sterling.
Vee Bundy spoke of the adolescent years..Business partner, Rocco Lassiter, spoke of adult shenanigans and stole the show with very plausible “Sterling tale”:
Rocco remembered a “flush” time when they rewarded the group with a trip to the NCAA FINAL FOUR BASKETBALL TOURNAMENT, to be held in New Orleans. Rocco: “Sterling was in charge of housing arrangements. About a week before the tournament I called Sterling asked where he had booked us? Sterling said sheepishly ‘I haven’t quite got that nailed down yet. Call me back in two days!’ Two days later I was warned “…I might as well tell, you’ll find out soon. I got all of us a great place to stay. Lots of suites at a five star hotel. Great amenities. All first class’—Sterling concluded and paused. “I asked Sterling, what could be wrong with that”? His reply,”…Rocco, the rooms are in Las Vegas!”
Basketball, gambling, and flying,eh, Tuddy?
As the floor was opened for comments from his close friends and I enjoyed them all. At same time, with each story, I found myself thinking: Tuddy- don’t leave you keys in the car. Or, you speak about as much German as Mickey Mouse and you have no idea where we are! The gasoline doesn’t go there, you dumbass!
Irene–if my Dad hadn’t have moved I could have stopped SOME of that.
My messianic impulses were abated to the point that perhaps DEEMS got it right: “Parham, I believe the Websters CONVERTED YOU!”
YEARBOOK SUPERLATIVES
Much like “annuals” of that time it showcased the activities each senior participated in. The goal for 12 years seemed to be how many things you could put on the list. Who did what, if you will: HOMECOMING QUEEN TO SHOP (1,2,3,4), All from band to Spanish and year by year.
Same at my high school. I went back and looked. Willis Williams had an impressive senior resume and justifiably so. Dr.Williams went on the be one of the world’s top surgeon for congenitally damaged infant hearts. A true adult star: Same as a youngster, from eagle scout to Morehead Scholar (the first from our county). Willis’ long list included “annual editor”. Not half the story. Hell, he took every picture in the book. Even then the book budget was tight.
No problem for Dr. Williams. He turned to family. There were loads of Williams in our area. Willis said “…the best chance of getting a date
is at a Williams family reunion.” He then created a method for space, i.e. pages in the book, chronologically. Justifiably Willis Williams, named
“Mr. Elise High School” got a whole page. Senior Superlatives {remember “Cutest” etc.?) named Williams got their half page. Senior Williams got their picture and their list. Williams from the Junior class through the ninth grade their first and last name or “John Williams”. From the eighth to third grade only an initial: Or– B. Williams. First and second graders were only Williams, listed side by side in the last rows. Tops was the third grade. Out of 78 kids there were eleven Williams.
Earl said he didn’t remember his list. “Just sports and probably FFA ( FUTURE FARMERS OF AMERICA). I WAS the Quarterback and called all the plays. Simple though in 6-man. I’d say something like “Bobby to the right side on 2. Rudolph, gitcherman.” Had to tell Rudolph Proctor to “get your man” every play. Rudolph said “…he moves around a lot” Later we just called him GITCHERMAN.”
SET UP?
Just saw a facebook tv clip on Ron and Don Marley. At 70 years people of Robbins, NC still can’t tell them apart.
My family moved two houses up from them in 1952. I bet a friend a quarter I could tell them apart. Just to be sure
I snuck “Ronnie” a piece of chewing gum. After I named “Donnie, “Ronnie–Donnie gave Ronnie his gum back. And I gave my
quarter to the friend. I was new in Robbins.
FACEMASKS
Many small teams in North Carolina played six- man football. There is a great Sports Illustrated article on Texas 6-man football, played even now. The rules are different (shorter field, 15 yards for a first down, have to lateral it once before, running it, etc.) but essentially it’s “hike it, and rednecks go long!”
Really, it was like a back yard game, but folks were serious. As Willie Nelson stated: “When Jesus said Love thy neighbor, there was no such thing as high school football.”
And they were playing with live bullets. At 5’3” 105 lbs, I was faced with tackling a junior on our team named Jimmy Freeman. Jimmy ran it at 6’1”, 175 lbs, and the only little guys, Aubrey Moody and I, tried to summon the courage to tackle him. My first realization was, hey – Jimmy ain’t Tuddy.
Only the toughest ventured out on the field. Frank Brown, the oldest of the Browns, was asked to help our coach. Frank said two remarkable things (1) we ain’t wearing those face masks, they’re for chicken shits, (2) if a man serves two years in the army and doesn’t spend six months in the brig, he ain’t much of a man.”
Two years later as a senior my right heel hit Charles Montjoy in the teeth in practice and we helped him pick up seven teeth from the field. I then begged for and received a single bar guard. Whew. Chicken shit or not, Frank.
SIX MAN FOOTBALL
I played six man football in the late 50’s in North Carolina. Recently I googled you tube six man football. Texas has about 200 small high school six man teams. The clips posted vary in length. Some are game film. Some feature the small Texas towns and youngsters who play today. One team has only six players on the squad. Yet state playoffs feature the same rabid atmosphere as all high school teams.While the kids are mostly small, there is some “de-cleating” out there. The field is 80 yards long rather than 100yds. Think about it, six players (or 12 on both teams) on 80 yds vs eleven (22) on 100. Lots of space and speed and fun. Check ’em out–the youngsters are great.
And no, they don’t play 3 man basketball.
BACK ROW BAPTISTS
There was another church character that demanded attention. Fremont Yow was a retarded man who looked like “Crazy Guggenhiem” from the Red Skelton Show. He was harmless but quite dirty and tough to understand. Fremont rarely missed church and sat on the front row, which pushed the Baptists even further back in the pews. Often unsuspecting newcomers would locate near him. He would soon get their attention by groaning, making unrelated audible comments, or rolling and flipping a booger across several aisles. Again I lived for these moments.
My dad would drive him home after church. In 1957 my dad, for some unknown reason bought a ’57 Chevy, the classic aquamarine and white one. Gorgeous. And it had two four barrel carburetors. Why he selected this creature for our family who knows, but I was the envy of the neighborhood NASCAR wannabees. Stock car racing was growing and we were twenty miles from Randleman, Level Cross, and the Petty family. Once I could drive that beast Dad was fairly free with it. He began to ask me to drive Fremont home. Here’s the scene; after church mom sat shotgun by me, I’d drop them at the parsonage, and drive Fremont – seated in the back – to his home.
Once out of sight, and on and the “straight” to the crossroads, Fremont and I would roll the windows down and I’d floor it. I can see him now; hand on his cruddy man’s hat, laughing toothlessly as we roared upwards of 100 MPH.
When I’d Blues Brothers the newfound jet into his dirt yard, he’d giggle and waddle up to the front porch, where from behind a screen door his mom in flour sack dress peered suspiciously at me.
I never went in.
HELLO JOSEPHINE
ON FINDING ROCK AND ROLL (From Play is Where Life Is by tp-page 40-41)
(with a nod to Jack Hussey)
Jack had migrated to Robbins having attended “rural” Westmoore until his junior year. Jack was a whole new story. His grandfather, with whom he lived, was a chicken farmer and did well. Plus Jack would work hard. He was always working wide open and making money. We called him “nickels and dimes” later in college, as he played every jukebox he passed (six songs for a quarter).
Jack also liked girl children, sports, and cars, anything that went fast. We played all sports together in high school, plus college basketball.
Jack always had a handful of money. One trip he and I made featured me getting off work at 9:30 pm, riding 157 miles to the Myrtle Beach Pavilion. Jack told me “I’m going down there and play every pinball game they have until I beat each one.” My allowance went fast but I watched the sun rise at the same time I watched Jack complete the whole Pavilion circuit. We rode back to Robbins.
The beach was magic. We’d sneak into El’s Pad at Ocean Drive and watch the big kids. I remember hearing “Don’t Be Cruel” continuously for three hours at the outdoor jukebox and dance floor across from El’s, next to the ocean. We had a white guy who could rock. Actually, Jack was more like Jerry Lee Lewis and all those songs remind me of Jack today. I sent him the Jerry Lee CD last year (2006). “Great Balls of Fire”.
I owe Jack. He hauled me everywhere, caught my passes, lent me money, and took me to the Rock and Roll Shows.
Sure enough, if you watched the Raleigh News and Observer in the mid to late fifties soon you’d see an ad for a show at Memorial Auditorium in our capitol.
This wouldn’t be one act. Sure there were “head liners.” Mostly “Fats” Dom ino, Little Richard, Ray Charles, Chuck Berry, Marvin Gaye, The Sherelles, Ruth Brown, and on and on. All the great ones and they’d come in bus loads. Sometimes as many as a dozen different performances or groups. We’d go early and watch them pile out of the buses. Occasionally Jackie found a glass jar full of quarters and half-dollars, his grandfather had buried on the farm. The old man didn’t trust banks because of “The Depression”. Upon finding one of their treasures we were apt to follow the shows from Raleigh to Greensboro or Winston-Salem, over to Charlotte on consecutive nights.
This was pre-integration. The blacks sat in the balcony and fought with the cops who wouldn’t let them dance in the aisles. One night the ruckus got so bad they dropped the stage curtain on “Fats” as he sung “Blueberry Hill”. Another highlight featured a golden suited Marvin Gaye, who while singing a medley, began to discard garments of gold. First, a coat, then shoes, a golden tie and shirt. Finally, as he revealed golden boxer shorts, Marvin and the band switched to “I’ll be doggone.” Classic!
Jack had a “56 black and white befender- skirted Mercury and it would fly. And he’d let it. Minimum 80 mph. The route to Raleigh featured a long sharp curve that Jackie had set the record on while rounding it, and he’d try to top his “personal best” every trip.
https://www.google.com/search?ei=tpjuXe20FbLL_QaZ_6fYAg&q=fats+domino+hello+josephine&oq=fats+domino+hell&gs_l=psy-ab.1.0.0l2j0i22i30l6j0i22i10i30j0i22i30.6354.8265..11378…0.0..0.136.706.
ROCK AND ROLL
Jack always had a handful of money. One trip he and I made featured me get- ting off work at 9:30 pm, riding 157 miles to the Myrtle Beach Pavilion. Jack told me “I’m going down there and play every pinball game they have until I beat each one.” My allowance went fast but I watched the sun rise at the same time I watched Jack complete the whole Pavilion circuit. We rode back to Robbins.
The beach was magic. We’d sneak into El’s Pad at Ocean Drive and watch the big kids. I remember hearing “Don’t Be Cruel” continuously for three hours at the outdoor jukebox and dance floor across from El’s, next to the ocean. We had a white guy who could rock. Actually, Jack was more like Jerry Lee Lewis and all
those songs remind me of Jack today. I sent him the Jerry Lee CD last year (2006). “Great Balls of Fire”.
I owe Jack. He hauled me everywhere, caught my passes, lent me money, and took me to the Rock and Roll Shows.
Sure enough, if you watched the Raleigh News and Observer in the mid to late fifties soon you’d see an ad for a show at Memorial Auditorium in our capitol.
This wouldn’t be one act. Sure there were “head liners.” Mostly “Fats” Domino, Little Richard, Ray Charles, Chuck Berry, Marvin Gaye, The Sherelles, Ruth Brown, and on and on. All the great ones and they’d come in bus loads. Sometimes as many as a dozen different performances or groups. We’d go early and watch them pile out of the buses. Occasionally Jackie found a glass jar full of quarters and half-dollars, his grandfather had buried on the farm. The old man didn’t trust banks because of “The Depression”. Upon finding one of their treasures we were apt to follow the shows from Raleigh to Greensboro or Winston-Salem, over to Charlotte on consecutive nights.
This was pre-integration. The blacks sat in the balcony and fought with the cops who wouldn’t let them dance in the aisles. One night the ruckus got so bad they dropped the stage curtain on “Fats” as he sung “Blueberry Hill”. Another highlight featured a golden suited Marvin Gaye, who while singing a medley, be- gan to discard garments of gold. First, a coat, then shoes, a golden tie and shirt. Finally, as he revealed golden boxer shorts, Marvin and the band switched to “I’ll be doggone.” Classic!
Jack had a “56 black and white befender skirted Mercury and it would fly. And he’d let it. Minimum 80 mph. The route to Raleigh featured a long sharp curve that Jackie had set the record on while rounding it, and he’d try to top his “personal best” every trip.
OLD DODGEY
There were periods of sobriety. But there were times when one simply needed a drink. Once, Walt, the needy, arranged a deal with Uncle Harvey who was “on the wagon”.
Harvey needed a difficult bull loaded on to “Old Dodgey” his pick up truck. The deal was Walt would use an electric prod on the bull’s rear end as Harvey backed “Old Dodgey” to the bull. For his part Walt would be driven to the booze store and given a pint of WRL (Walk, Run and Lay Down) liquor. Otherwise, known as cheap stuff. Walt, already considerably tight, miscalculated and prodded the bull’s testicles. The bull leaped over the bed of the truck on to the top of the cab, crushing it down. Old Dodgey on Harvey.
The bull fell back into the bed, winning the argument for Walt over Harvey, contending the bull was in the truck, and that was the deal.
The boys recall seeing the bull tied in the back of Old Dodgey, both 300 pound Harvey and Walt squatted low in the crushed cab, on the way to deliver the bull with a brief stop at the ABC store.
The Little Green Book of Tennis 