1. Twin
1. Twin
1. Luther lived in Jacksonville, Florida, in 1960.
Christopher Columbus WILSON "Jr"
1. Source from Chris & Eula May 12 May 1990.
2. Chris is a retired Navy man.
3. He still enjoys a fine vegetable garden.
4. Chris plays a pretty mean guitar and enjoys it.
1. Marie was of Greek descent.
Christopher Columbus WILSON "Jr"
1. Source from Chris & Eula May 12 May 1990.
2. Chris is a retired Navy man.
3. He still enjoys a fine vegetable garden.
4. Chris plays a pretty mean guitar and enjoys it.
1. The following is a biosketch as written by Robert Brooks Wilson:
A TASTE OF MUSTARD
My first thoughts as to a difference occured when yet a youngster. My paternal grandparents would tell my parents in my presence, that I was an overactive child with too much energy and they just didn't see how they were able to put up with my hyperactiveness. It really had an effect on me in that I was being compared with my siblings, one older, and at that time, one or possibly two younger, in what would ultimately be a total of seven children in my family. Initially, I would wonder if maybe I could change since I didn't measure up to the standards. Little did they know they were seeing the results of the turmoil and anxiety created in the life of a child while enduring the stress of an alcoholic environment.
My first memories of my father were less than those that build a foundation on which love and respect can flourish. One of my most frightening experiences as a child was being chased by a drunken father with a butcher knife. My father called himself an artist and he probably would have been a good one if he had not yielded to the temptation of the bottle and throttled his artistic talents. In order to keep body and soul together he was compelled to become a "sign painter" and in this meager environment I remember him during the too few years of our acquaintance.
In his attempt to fulfill the needs of his growing family and growing thirst it was soon evident that his habit had priority over his responsibilities. I remember my mother taking her children on trips to town to cover the local bars and brothels and drag him out in order to have food for the mouths of her ever increasing brood. Hunger was a thing you got used to in the household of an alcoholic, but it was harder to see the effects of hunger on my fellow siblings than to endure them. I remember my third sister as a baby expressing her natural instinct for nourishment and the lack of even a morsel of food in our house while my father was on one of his drunken binges out of state. My mother was compelled to go "more and more" to seek the help of relatives who were desiring "less and less" to see her coming.
Times were tough enough anyway since the country was enduring "the great depression" but on top of this my family was experiencing a disaster due to my father's inability to cope with his problem. Soon he began to run afoul of the law and my mother would parade us children in front of the local judical powers in order to win his release.
Things went from bad to worse in my father's attempt to satisfy his ever increasing appetite for alcohol. Times were when he would take off with one of his drinking cohorts and take trips to Florida or God knows where using his artistic ability on a piecemeal basic to supply their drinking needs. Soon my mother's appeals to family were useless and she had to seek help from governmental agencies and our family became wards of the welfare system.
Finally, the routine became so predictable that I was able to foretell the future with a fair degree of accuracy. My father would sober up from his latest binge and I actually believed he would have pangs of remorse for the neglect he had for his dependents. He would settle down for several months and with his above average ability he again became an adequate provider for the wants and needs of his growing family. The children would all endeavor to "make things right" since somehow we thought our actions were the reason our father couldn't cope with sobriety.
After a while his attitude became hostile and he seemed to take great delight in expressing his favoritism for his first born at the expense of the other siblings. At first I wondered how I was failing to please my father. I longed for the relationship I saw between my brother and my father and wondered what mystical power he had in order to effect this status and how I might obtain it. Anyway, I cherished him for being able to have acceptance from this man and I also wanted the privilege to walk in his limelight.
It was not to be since his rejection of me was his first sign of returning to drink. Things would deteriorate in the household where food would begin to become scarce and hunger became the constant companion sitting on our shoulders. I remember going through the last staples, eating the raisins, dried apples, prunes, etc and finally coming to the reality that all that was left was a biscuit between us and hunger. To make this more palatable I would sometimes spread mustard on my biscuit since mustard had a way of being around until the end.
I remember praying to God and asking that he help my father realize his responsibilities to his family. Needless to say my prayers were never answered and I ultimately accepted the premise that God was punishing me for my sins either actual or supposed. My psyche was so shaken that I felt excluded from God's chosen and alien to Christianity. Even today I have not fully rectified my feelings in this to the point that when things are good I feel there is no way it can last.
Once again my mother would seek the help of the welfare agencies and we began our survival while my father was taking care of his most eminet needs. Things at times were worse than other times. I remember us being without clothes and having to get clothing from the charitable agencies that were all made from the same material. In doing this you wore your poverty on your back and everbody knew who was on the dole by the clothes he wore. Even to a child it was an emblem of disgrace and we couldn't wait until we pulled them off to lessen our shame.
Another time I remember my oldest sister not having shoes to wear in the coldest part of the winter. Snow was not yet falling and she had to wear my shoes to school in order to take advantage of the shoes available from the generosity of others donating their old shoes.
If you were poor enough you could get soup and milk at school from the welfare system. I can remember coming to school hungry and having to endure the torture of the aroma of that wonderful vegetable soup wafting through the halls. Many times my ability to concentrate I am sure was overcome by my thoughts of savoring that soup and holding a mouthful of milk at length in order to enjoy its flavor. Even the stigma of having to line up in front of the cafeteria to gain your handout was overcome when you satisfied your aching hunger.
Our lives continued in this pattern and we progressively went to a lessor rung on the social ladder until my father decided one day to move the family to a new state and become a different man. He also was at the end of his ability to escape the judicial system of the state in which he was residing for repeated driving while intoxicated charges.
At the onset things were actually better and I look back on them as being some of the best memories I have from a childhood without many pleasantries. Soon my father again fell into his usual habits and now my mother was in a new environment without recourse to her old pipeline of aid in her times of need. While I was away at an outing for underpriviledged children, the welfare agency put my five starving sisters in a home for neglected children run by the Salvation Army. Since my brother was approximately 14 years old at the time and I was 12, I guess they thought we were ready for the world and we had to be by necessity.
World War II had begun and all you had to have was a warm body to attain employment. My mother was able to get a job in the burgeoning manufacturing for the war effort and in a fashion we existed while my brother and myself were able to gain some substenance through our efforts by caddying at local golf courses. My father continued his merry way at a new pace since all restraints were now removed. He didn't have to worry about his family now and he really got serious about his inclination to the drink.
In my new position of not having to depend on my father, I finally came to the conclusion of what I really wanted from him and that one thing was acceptance. For just once, I wanted to be a normal child with a father like most of my peers. I needed a father to be proud of, like my friends seemed to be of theirs.
With mother working it now became my father's goal in life to disrupt what little normality we had by mistrusting my mother since she was now independent of his pitiful effort of support. I can remember his stupors and can still smell his alcoholic breath and his body odor caused by his aversion for cleanliness during his drunken escapades. Finally, father began to more savagely beat my mother and things were becoming critical even to the eyes of a young boy.
I guess you really wanted to run and given the chance I would have. My brother at the tender age of 15 (almost 16) was able to joing the Navy by obtaining my father's consent and misrepresenting his age. I would have also but 13 was too young. What final degree of control the family was able to exercise over my father was through my brother; his esteemed first born. With him gone, things accelerated to the point that I was trying to keep father from killing mother during his fits of drunken anger. Once I took a knife from him while he was sitting on my mother's chest threating to cut her throat. For my efforts I acquired several stitches in my right hand but in my mind I avoided a murder.
Mother ran for her life and the family disentegrated. I was able to find employment as a cook/waiter in the community due to the war causing a general lack of people of this ilk (?). I was able to exist by the kindness of people that were aware of my predicament or who saw in me a valuable person, worthy of their efforts to save.
My father left the country to God knows where and left me in peace to pick up the ends of my life and put them back together. After a while mother contacted me from where she had gone and I joined her for a few weeks until I realized my place was by myself. I left to go back to my place I had established after my parents separation and subsequent divorce.
I was at a crossroad of life and determined I had to have a goal. I decided my goal would be to earn my father's respect and become an individual he would be pleased with. Why this was important to me I truthfully don't know. I do know I had some doubt about my parentage and wondered if perhaps, due to the way my father worshipped my brother and treated me, he might have the same doubts. At a later time in life I put that question to my mother and she assured me my suspicions were ill founded.
After my fair share of failures to support myself I again went back to the semi-dominance of my mother. I accepted the hospitality of my maternal grandparents' home for a few months until I could no longer take the abuse of my grandmother in regard to my father's short comings. I again went to live with my mother for a short while until I joined the service approximately two months after my 16th birthday.
While spending four years in the service I made up for my inadequate scholastic preparation. I still had the goal to prove my ability and gain the acceptance of my father. This was strange since I really had contempt and hatred for him.
I went to college and obtained a degree in engineering. Now I was ready to take my bows and receive accolades from my father. After sending a graduation notice I received a wire asking for money from me in order to get him out of another jail. I realized my goal was futile and I chose to acquire other goals.
I never had contact again with my father until my two children were teenageers. At that time he was visiting my sister and I was asked to bring my children for him to see. I remembered him as being taller than I was when last I had seen him at some fifteen years. In order to overcome this preconceived shortcoming on my part I wore boots in order to increase my height. At our meeting this was not necessary since he was several inches shorter even without the boots. Not once did he mention our past or my life after his leaving, so I assumed he was oblivious to my accomplishments. Never again did he physically attempt to contact me and I often felt a sense of satisfaction that he didn't.
Approximately 8 to 10 days before his death at almost 86 years I had the premonition that he was trying to get through to me. I refused to want any further contact with him and ignored the call for forgiveness. In talking with my oldest sister the night before his demise I found out he was in a nursing home some 80 miles from me with no imminent possiblity of death. After sleeping on that information I had made up my mind to at least have his grandchildren contact him so that he could see his great-grandchildren if he desired. That very afternoon at 5:30 p.m. he passed away and carried to his tomb the acceptance that at one time was so importaint to me.
In retrospect, my decision to condemn my father's life was probably as wrong as his treatment of his family. There is remorse on my part that things were not on he level before his death. I do believe I could have forgiven him if he would have simply asked. Of course, my forgiveness wouldn't have righted his deeds as they, in my opinion, were between him and God. Maybe even I could have understood why?
One of the hardest things I had to overcome in my life was a fundamental mistrust of males in any endeavor and in all phases of my life. I even at one time felt incapable of loving a male child should I ever have one. After having my own son I learned how wrong my concepts were and how much love I had for my first born, a beautiful daughter, as well as him. I even got a second chance to prove it possible to trust a male with a handsome grandson. While not saying children are a panacea for all ailments I would say they mitigate a lot of difficulties.
Even today mustard reminds me of poverty in my childhood and I somehow wonder if it won't have further connotations of the thing in which I had placed so much importance; my father's acceptance.
---------------------------------------------------------2. From the Midland Reporter Telegram.....Monday 26 Jun 1995...
Bob Wilson, exemplified what a hero is when he helped Harry Monahan chase down the man who mugged Loyd Whitley last year......
1. Mary was raised in the Lamesa, Texas, area.
1. Of Abilene, Texas, in 1990.
Col. Joseph Proctor "Joe" BEARDEN
1. Joe was always very kind and lived life to the fullest in his "home surroundings"
2. Joe retired from the U. S. Airforce.
3. He is missed!
1. Joan made a career in the Air Force, met Joe Bearden later in life and married him....a fine couple they were too!
2. Joan still lives in San Antonio, Texas, as of 26 Jul 2004.
Col. Joseph Proctor "Joe" BEARDEN
1. Joe was always very kind and lived life to the fullest in his "home surroundings"
2. Joe retired from the U. S. Airforce.
3. He is missed!
1. Lizzie was last of seven children.
1. Donna is a person that doesn't like anything out of place.