As explained in my previous introductory blog post, Dad had accepted the call to pastor the Calvary Baptist Church in Bayou Chicot, Louisiana. Our family moved from North Louisiana to this South-Central village in 1949.
By this time, the World War II postwar prosperity was starting to get underway. There were new and bigger cars and even the first Volkswagen Beetle - The Peoples Car, was introduced that year. Televisions and other fancy goods began appearing in people's homes.
Although prosperity was obviously apparent to some parts of the population, they hadn't yet arrived in the Lazenby household in Bayou Chicot, Louisiana.
The parsonage, owned by the church, was a small two-bedroom, one-bath house. That meant there was a lot of sharing beds, small closets and bathroom space. Being that the house was conveniently placed at the church's back door, also meant that the pastor was on call 24/7 and there were no excuses for the family to miss whatever might be going on.
It was on a very warm day in 1949 that my three-year-old sister and I fell in love for the first time. Two college boys from the Chicot church came to help us move into the parsonage. Cecil Griffith and Ronald Johnson were direct descendants from original Chicot settlers, but that fact certainly wasn't the attraction. They were so handsome and strong, and went out of their way to be friendly with Gin and me. This five-year old was swept off her feet and remembers it vividly to this day.
Gin and I did feel a bit betrayed when both boys married a few years later, but also felt vindicated that they had married well and that we had loved them first. Our families always remained close and they both still hold a special place in these old women's hearts.
I am going to tell you a secret that you can't tell any of the old folks who were there. Being that close to the church meant that we had additional space to play, without being irreverent of course.
Gin and I loved the deep baptistry and even used the left-over water to play in after a baptism. During the hot summers, we wished there had been more souls saved. I loved to play (carefully bang) the piano and thought I was making music until I tried to repeat what I thought was pretty for mom and dad. It was never the same the second time and the hymn I thought I was playing was never recognizable; it even sounded like banging to my own ears. Mom and Dad always listened though and told me to keep trying.
We helped Dad run-off and fold the church bulletins each Saturday. It was a lengthy process that involved him creating the original on his old Underwood typewriter, making a stencil on the blue jelly spirit duplicator, and then running the copies on the Mimeograph machine. This was not only a time consuming task but a very stinky one.
Mother always had to make the unleavened bread for the Lord's Supper. I can't tell you how many times the Lord's bread was a bit overcooked and required a few extra seconds to chew before drinking the fruit of the vine that came from the local grocery store. Nevertheless, this was a favorite time for Gin and me because we got to drink the grape juice in the little cups that had not been used. Did I mention not being irreverent? Not us, because we were very grateful for this observance as small children because it was the only time we had such a delicacy.
Our house was also right across the little dirt road and two ditches (where crawfish were often caught with a small piece of raw bacon on the end of a string) from the school that housed grades 1 through 12. In the fall of 1950, I started first grade and Gin got into trouble the first few days for trying to follow me.
The first high school in Chicot was built in 1937 and it was in that building that we both started school, and it still stands today. Many of our teachers had been teaching long before this building existed. Yes, to us they were very old.
It didn't take long for Mother to realize instead of God taking us to the heathens, He had instead taken us to our new family. The people who lived in Chicot were actually descendants of the original settlers who had migrated from Europe through the early American Colonies into this new southern land of plenty. More on that in another post. These precious people soon became uncles and aunts to me and my sister and best friends to our parents.
In 1951, Daddy bought a brand new Studebaker car and Gin and I thought our family had finally arrived. We still didn't have a television or a washing machine or dryer, but that was alright because not many of the people around had those either.
It was while taking an imaginary trip in this Studebaker that Gin, who was five and had already made a public decision to accept Jesus as her Savior, told me that I, who was 7, needed to make that decision too. It was something the Lord had been convicting me of and I knew I needed to ask Him to be my Savior. I did, and the following Sunday I walked down that country church aisle to my Daddy's smiling face and told him I had asked Jesus into my heart. Gin and I were baptized together a few weeks later. And yes, Daddy let us play in the left-over water a couple days before draining it.
It was also in 1951 that we held the first of many Colvin family reunions at our little house in Chicot. Because of its central location it was the perfect meeting place for the siblings and cousins to meet.
A happy Mama with nine of her ten children
Mama with eight of her too-many-to-count grandchildren
In January 1952, Mother and Daddy gave us the sweetest little baby sister, Sarah Ruth. Gin and I were thrilled. With 7 and 5 years difference between us and Sarah, we quickly recognized that Sarah was without doubt the favorite child. She got away with most anything that we would have been corrected for. Now all of a sudden those very things were adorable. We now understand that is just the way it is supposed to be with the third child and especially if she really is adorable.
About this time the house was enlarged to accommodate a growing family, which was a blessing for all of us, especially Mother. We also got our first television set and always watched Saturday night boxing and knew the Gillette song by heart.
In 1953, our Mama died leaving a huge emptiness in our home and the precious people of Chicot stepped in as grandparents as well as aunts and uncles for Sarah. She shared these thoughts:
"The memories I have of Bayou Chicot are few but have been lasting. My earliest memory is climbing into the bed with my grandmother for her to read over and over my favorite book, "Lucky Miss Ticklefeather." It had been published the year before I was born, and Mama never minded reading to me. It was during these early years that I established relationships with church member families, especially the Whittingtons. I gained grandparents and cousins while being "adopted" by Mr. Delmont and Mrs. Elaine, adding another daughter to their three, Sherry, Darlene and Jennifer."
It was from his mother, our Grandmother, that Dad got his love for reading. She told us she read every single book in her school library twice before graduating.
Our Pappy, Dad's father, died in 1948 after which Grandmother lived with her oldest son, our Uncle G and his family in Bernice. A couple times a year we would travel north to see the family and to bring her back for extended visits. These were always fun trips for us because it gave us time with our only Lazenby cousins, Jerry, Mike and Sue and we dearly loved our Lazenby family.
It was Mike, one year older than me and Jerry, two years older, who taught us how to eat watermelons right in the field. No spoon or plate required. I hope to not embarrass him with this story, but as a small child, Mike wanted to be a log truck. Yes, you read that right. Not the driver, but the truck. He was fascinated by the big trucks that passed their house loaded with huge logs. He graciously took a lot of teasing about this through the years.
Mike and I were always accused of being the trouble makers of the foursome and I have no reason to question that. So who could have known then that Mike would one day be a teacher, principle, and serve as a superintendent of schools. Jerry would own an engineering firm, building major highways and large construction projects all over the country. They both serve as deacons in their churches and have beautiful families.
Sue and Sarah were close to the same age and were content to play their sweet little girly games as children. Sarah grew up to have three sons and Sue had three lovely daughters, the oldest of whom died with cancer a few years ago. Her funeral was the last time we were together.
We love our Lazenby family and both the fun and sad times have bonded us as a family. May we carry on the strong Lazenby legacy left to us.
Yes, life for the Lazenby's in Bayou Chicot was in many ways idyllic and I'll share more about that next Monday.
