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Monday, December 30, 2013

The Willawaw

By Hugh Singleton

In the valley of the Chattahoochee the consistently muddy river flows at a rapid pace between the tree-lined banks of plantations established in the days when the red man occupied most of Georgia, Alabama, and Florida. Andrew Jackson had yet to bring his army to Horseshoe Bend and determined white men often had to defend themselves from hungry red scavengers who regularly raided along the river in Georgia, then escaped into Alabama with livestock from the Georgia farms, often leaving dead and wounded farmers in their wake. Owners constantly searched for different ways to intimidate the fierce warriors. This was said to be when the Willawaw came into existence, although nothing of a factual nature was ever found to substantiate the rumors.
     Captain Winston Burnett, owner of the four thousand acre Burnett Plantation, was credited by his slaves with releasing the Willawaw on the banks of the Chattahoochee in response to a raid which resulted in the loss of almost fifty prime beef cattle. Captain Burnett never claimed credit for the Willawaw, nor did he ever admit having anything to do with the massacre of a thirty-eight member raiding party found two days later lying dead and mutilated less than a day’s distance into Alabama. When the Captain and his party of armed slaves left that scene of horror to search for his cattle, the slaves spread their wide-eyed tales that a Willawaw was loose and roaming the banks of the Chattahoochee.
     Superstition was rampant in the lives of slaves as well as among the redskin tribes. While no two people could describe a Willawaw nor agree on its habits, blacks and Indians agreed that it was a ghostly phantom, never seen and it was inescapable; a vaporous monster given to ripping apart the bodies of anyone or anything that crossed its path. Some seventy-eight red bodies were found torn apart and scattered along the river banks between Irwinton, later known as Eufaula, and Fort Gaines, a small stockade with just eighteen permanent troops. It was rumored that Indian raids in that stretch of the river ceased entirely until Captain Winston Burnett was killed in a duel and ownership of Burnett Plantation passed to his oldest son, Marcus. During the Indian wars that brought Andrew Jackson’s army south into Georgia, Florida, and finally to        Horseshoe Bend in Alabama, Indian raids increased and slaves who fled their plantation homes to live with the Indians spread tales that the dreaded Willawaw had left the Chattahoochee. Indian warriors claimed that fear had driven the monster away; that the redman’s magic was too great for it.
     Through the years that led to civil war and freedom for the slaves the Willawaw seemed to have disappeared. Then in 1999 a gruesome murder occurred at Shaw’s Landing. Miss Angie Criddle, a life-long resident of Clay County was fishing in the river, something she loved to do on Saturday afternoons. She was brutally attacked and left for dead by a river tramp, who then proceeded to take the radio, the spare tire, tools, blankets and a flashlight from the vintage auto that Miss Criddle had driven for thirty years. As the tramp was loading his spoils into his bateau, Miss Criddle regained consciousness but remained quiet despite her throbbing head and watched the thief furtively.
     “He was just starting to push his boat into the water,” she told Sheriff Watson later, “when something hit him so hard he went head over heels into the river. Then it looked as if he was yanked back out of the water and thrown into the thicket around that big pine tree. I couldn’t see into the thicket, but there was a great deal of thrashing about before everything got real quiet. That’s when I ran to my car and called 911 from the cell phone I keep under my seat.”
     Deputy Palin drove Miss Criddle to the hospital in Eufaula while the sheriff and two deputies combed the area where she was attacked. They found no tracks except those of Miss Criddle and the thief. His dismembered body was strewn where Miss Criddle had pointed out and blood was splattered everywhere. The sheriff was never able to identify the dead man nor trace the old bateau. Miss Criddle appeared on several television news programs and also described her encounter to various civic groups. Sheriff Watson never mentioned the red eyes that had watched him from the thick woods along the Chattahoochee.



copyright 2014, Hugh Singleton


Hugh Singleton was born 1931 in Cuthbert, a small agricultural town in southwest central Georgia.  The Singletons date back to the pre-civil war days, with older roots  paternal roots go back to England; maternal to Ireland.  Hugh’s higher education consists of business school training in accounting and administration.  He served four years in the U.S. Navy, 1951-1955.  Hugh  enjoyed a career with the NCR Corporation and retired at the end of 1993.  Hugh and his wife  live in a retirement community near Leesburg, FL where they enjoy a number of activities.

Sunday, December 22, 2013

I Have Seen The Future



by June T. Bassemir

Company from out of state came this past week end.  We hadn’t seen them in twenty years.  The coats were hung in the hall closet and immediately the 50 year old said he wanted to show us something.  Out he whipped the IPAD...a truly remarkable technology tool.  He clued us in on the family tree – then searched my walls for pictures of relatives long gone, to fill in the gaps of the tree he had on the IPAD.  From there he showed us something “really new... it will blow your mind."  And it did!

There is now technology that will print in 3D and he used the IPAD to show us the advertising video of the company in NYC that does it!  All three days of the visit, the 8” x  9” [?] screen was in constant use.  There was little conversation exchanged...even when another part of the family came to visit. 

As soon as my son and family came through the front door they were immediately whisked away to see the IPAD in action.  It was on the floor for all to view what it could do.  No one asked how the intervening years were spent or what was going on in their lives now.  From the floor the “screen” came up to the table and was a camera speaking to another IPAD back home.  The caretaker in Florida put the mother in front of their IPAD.  She is in the throes of Alzheimer’s and was not making sense.  The husband and son at my table were keen to have us witness the confusion of the poor woman.  UGH!  This is entertainment?

The IPAD may be yet another “friend” that has entered the home, but it has taken over in the life of this visiting cousin and was even in evidence - placed as it was on the console of the car - when they drove away.  I guess at that point it was a GPS.

It’s not hard to imagine the time when everyone will have an IPAD.  The instruments will talk to each other and there will be no face to face conversation. Yes, I have seen the future and it ain’t pretty!  

copyright 2013 by June Tuthill Bassemir

Friday, December 13, 2013

Saga Of A Cadillac



By Darlene Jennings



 I parked her back in August when she developed a power steering fluid leak.  Once Johnny B. and I had braved the blazing afternoon sun to fill up the reservoir but within a week the steering was squealing again.  So she was parked with all good intentions of getting her to the shop asap.  After six months bouncing around in the vw convertible and only putting the top down a couple of times to load flea market finds in the back seat I decided the time had come to turn my attention back to the caddy. 

 That car holds so many memories.  The Cadillac was a perfect baby-sitter when my granddaughter was a toddler.  Jeez…  she loved all of those buttons. (The same ones that don’t have letters on them anymore from cleaning with Windex.)  Just plop her in the front seat (keeping a good eye on the shifter for safety) and she would punch buttons, blow the horn and “ride like Clyde” in the power seats.  The radio was fun too. Off and on, off and on.  She seemed to prefer music from the 80’s so there is something to be said about those genes from her parents.  Climbing from the front seats to the back seats held a special fascination until she discovered that there was a secret compartment in the back seat console.  Ok…she broke the cup holders but big deal, I don’t ride in the back seat anyway.

 By the time her brother came along I had grown accustomed to the red Georgia clay on the back of the front seats.  Now really, do you think two toddlers in car seats aren’t going to constantly kick the front seats?  Try as I may I still can’t get that smoky red color off the leather.  If kicking wasn’t enough fun they both learned to roll the back windows up and down until I was finally smart enough to hit the lock button.  I still feel a little guilty telling them they broke the windows.  Anyone with grandchildren knows that all kind of stuff gets under those cumbersome car seats…..crayons, bubble gum, ink pens, French fries, hair barrettes, Ninja warriors, you just name it.  I could have had a yard sale right out of my car.

 If that car could talk it would tell you about trips to the North Carolina mountains slipping and sliding on ice, week-ends in Charleston and Savannah with girlfriends and countless trips to Athens, Georgia for visits.  It always amazed me how my daughter Traci could get in that car, lean the seat back oh so far and immediately fall asleep for hours and hours. She would then amazingly wake up when we reached our destination.  Well at least I didn’t have to listen to “Are we there yet.?”

 The 2002 auto has been in the shop more times than I want to count.  As of today I have replaced the engine twice, a transmission, the radio and entire electrical system, along with batteries, alternators and some other stuff I have tried to forget.  Naturally I have run through three sets of tires driving the past ten years from Pawleys Island to the office in Myrtle Beach five days a week.  She’s got more miles on her than Carter has liver pills but I can’t bring myself to say goodbye.  My family tells me she’s a lemon and my friend Darryl Hammond says “Set it on fire” but my heart screams Noooooo.

 “The good news..” says the Cadillac repairman last week “is that you do not have to replace the power steering pump.  Seems there was a broken motor mount causing the engine to shift back and forth that put a hole in the power steering line.”  Great I think…lets fix it.  He casually mentions that the engine thing also created a small hole in the air conditioner line and then they will need to flush the power steering reservoir.  “Oh, and there is a head light bulb out and you really need to shine up those head light covers as they are a mess.  And one more thing….all of that power steering fluid was leaking on your fan belt and caused it to come loose so you need to fix that as well” he says.  Ok …. I’m guessing we are up to $500 in repairs by now.

 Needless to say I was excited about picking her up yesterday.  I was already planning a trip down to Charleston on Saturday.  Ready to rock and roll in that smooth ride.  I should have known something was up when the girl in the dealership asked me if I would be paying by credit card.  I pulled out the American Express card. (The same one that is still carrying a balance from December’s cruise with the grandkids.)  “That will be one thousand seven hundred and thirty one dollars.” she calmly says.

            Does anyone have a match?

copyright Darlene Jennings, 2013 


 Darlene Jennings is a native of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina and dates herself by remembering when "we turned off the two downtown traffic lights in the winter." She grew up with sand between her toes and sand-spurs to boot.  Proud mother of two and grandmother of two, Darlene has been self employed for over thirty years in Community Management.  (A job that sucks the soul right out of you, she says.)  Her relief is community service and writing spur-of-the-moment short stories. Many stories have been shared with family and friends who suggested she write a book.  But that just sounds like another job to Darlene!