Ralph E. Gordon
Christmas 1970 was a day I shall never forget. Our barn burned to the ground. Total loss. My brother Bernard’s three young children were playing in the decrepit old structure that morning when it almost collapsed on them. After that near disaster, Momma told us to tear it down.
She had asked my brothers and me to do it for the past couple of years, but none of us wanted to see the old landmark go. After her grandchildren’s close call, she gave us no choice. Momma said, “tear it down. I’m not asking y’all again.” Momma had a way of reciting the phase, “I’m not asking you again,” that always got my brothers and my attention. So we destroyed the barn.
It just didn’t seem right to be hammering and banging with a crowbar on the holiest day of the year. My brother Curtis suggested we dynamite it. So much for making racket on Christmas Day. I immediately objected to that crazy idea. The last time we used dynamite, we blew up my daddy’s favorite deer dog. Besides Buckshot Beavers who procured the dynamite, was in the Army in Viet Nam blowing up stuff over there. My other brother Bernard came up with yet another idea. Torch it. That seemed like a good idea since we had shot all the fireworks the night before. We all agreed that burning the barn would be the safest and quietest way of destroying the building. This way we won’t disrupt the neighbor’s Christmas with a lot of noise.
The deal was sealed. After a feast of turkey and dressing and all the other treats Momma had fixed, my two brothers and I headed to the barn with a box of matches. Little ones watched from the porch. One match was all it took. All the dry hay scattered around the heart pine building provided plenty of kindling. As soon as the match hit that pile of hay, the old building was engulfed in flames sending a cloud of black smoke from Greenland to Pleasant Grove to Mr. Zion.
Nothing like a nice peaceful fire on Christmas. But it didn’t seem all that peaceful to the neighbors. As the smoke towered over Greenland community, the neighbors began to flock in. Some of them came with fire extinguishers, others came with water hoses. They all came with good hearts and good intentions.
One lady asked if we got all the animals out before it caught fire. My brother Bernard being the prankster that he was, told her we got all of them out except Momma’s cat. The dear lady just shook he head and said, “I swanny.” Truth was, Momma never had a cat. She didn’t like cats.
One of our suspicious neighbors asked if we had any idea how the fire started. Again, my prankster brother Bernard spoke up and told the gentleman that it was probably lightening. He didn’t buy that story since the sun was shining brightly that day. That same neighbor was overheard at the Jimmy’s Barbershop in Little Rock as saying he believed “them boys of OJ’s just set that fire.” OJ was our daddy.
We had a great time with all the commotion we created around Greenland that Christmas day. But I do feel a little guilty about the family who left the dinner table when they saw the smoke. They thought our house was on fire. Christmas was a little different that year. We had a nice visit with our neighbors. Most of them
anyway! A few days later the lady showed up with a kitten for Momma. She graciously accepted it but she wasn’t so gracious to my brother for yarning to the lady. Momma became very fond of the new kitten.
That’s the way Greenland folks are. If they have a hint that you might need them, they’ll be there.
Ralph Gordon of Union, Past President of the Mississippi Writers Guild and Recipient of the William Faulkner Literary Award
