Harry in the Sky with Diamonds
Good morning. Today, we have a co-columnist I’d like you to meet. Her name is Marsha James, my mom. You might remember her as the beautiful, tall redhead from the front counter at Settler’s in Forney, in the late 90’s. Her favorite word was fantastic. If you were having a bad day, she wouldn’t let you leave until you said it back to her. “What’s the word of the day?” Turns out, it’s difficult to say the word fantastic without smiling. Good job, Mom. In preparation for this story, I needed to pick her brain. The details had to be spot on. Since this is her story to tell, who better to ask? So, in Mom’s words, I’m going to tell you about the time in 1962 when she went to work at Mrs. Davis’ home for children at the tender age of 16, in a little town called Seagoville.
“I remember I used to run into Mrs. Davis sometimes in town. She was the one who ran that home, you know. The one where the kids lived, kids with different disabilities and illnesses and things where, you know, their families couldn’t take care of them. So, Mrs. Davis would take them. You know that’s Ruby Davis (Ruby Davis was my Aunt Joan’s mother, I believe. Aunt Joan was married to my mom’s brother, Jerry Pickard). So, Mrs. Davis would come into town with this little girl, one of the girls she looked after. Oh, why can’t I remember that little girl’s name? Well, anyway, she would have her dressed up like a little doll. Ribbons in her hair. Pretty little dress. Pretty little shoes on. I just loved that little girl. Well, one day, Mrs. Davis said, ‘Marsha, why don’t you come and work for me? I bet Harry would just love you.’ (More on Harry later.) I guess I was about 16. So, I told Mrs. Davis I’d love to. I tell you, that woman was an angel, just an absolute angel.
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