Remembering My Father, J. C. Mayfield

1931 photo of J. C. Mayfield being baptized. From left, Bro. Harvey Edwards, second person unknown, third person is J. C. Mayfield at age 16 years (wearing strip pants, which were borrowed.) Other people are unknown. The location was Thickers Creek, near the present day Hwy. 91, southwest of Hanceville, Alabama.

 

By: Joe Mayfield

All rights reserved

 

Fathers are very special people; they work hard for their families, always ready to help with the children, and still find time to be a teacher of what’s right and wrong. I feel very fortunate to have had a father that cared enough to tutor me in the all important things of life, things such as; working hard so as to feel a sense of self-worth, the need of attending church so you don’t forget there’s a higher power watching over you, and Always do the right thing, even when its not popular.

 

My father, J. C. Mayfield (2/11/1915 to 11/4/1998) was the first of seven children born into the family of Obie Lee Mayfield, (Dec. 25th, 1888 to Oct. 17th, 1965) and Johnnie Headrick Mayfield (May 10th, 1896 to Sept. 14th, 1992). A pioneer family from Hanceville, Alabama, that brought forth life from the earth as share croppers, producing cotton, corn, strawberries and potatoes for Family Food, and to sell to the public for income.

Hard work was the order of the day, out of bed by 3:30 AM so as to have hot coffee, cathead biscuits, eggs and bacon in the stomach before going to the barn to milk the cow. It was important to have the mules in the fields for plowing before daylight, It was easier to plow before the heat of the day. If the cotton was ready for picking, again, in the fields before daylight in order to pick more before the sun pushed the temperatures to near sun stroke conditions. At the end of the day, milk the cow before supper, then in bed by 7:30 PM to get enough sleep.

 

My dad, a wiry and lean farmboy learned all the aspects of farming from his Papa, then helped teach his brothers and sisters these same skills, plus attended school as for as the sixth grade. His Papa, besides being a good farmer, was a skilled hunter and kept rabbit and squirrel on the table for fresh meat during the winter plus put up pork when hog killing time came each fall, smoking bacon, hams, and chops. The responsibilities my dad learned as a boy growing up would one day be passed to me, making me all the better for the hardships he had endured during the 1920s.

 

My dad met Lenora Jab Dowda, (11/28/1914 to 3/21/1992) his future bride, at a church singing and immediately was smitten. After a long courtship, marrying in 1937, they setup housekeeping in the small town of Hanceville. It was almost 10 years later that I came into the world, and once I reached that certain age, he helped me to learn to walk, and as I attempted to hobble from first one foot to the other, he would laugh, hold my hands and give encouragement.

 

As time passed, he would teach other skills, but always with his famous Tampa Nugget cigar tucked to one side of his mouth. By the age of five I had learned to help out at the family business, a dry cleaning plant, and looked forward to his nod, and a wink for a job well done after placing pants guards onto hangers while he pressed men’s pants. I knew that the end of the day would bring a Popsicle, a favorite treat. My dad had a way of making me feel special as we worked together, it was as though I could tell he had confidence in me, and because of that I would work even harder.

 

During one of those many hot summer days in the late 50s, I recall he pressed 352 pair of men’s pants. That must be a record, yet when you remember his up bringing its not surprising.

 

When I was sixteen years old there was a problem with the boiler which produced steam for the steam presses, and therefore, tagging along with my dad, I watched as he opened a valve to release the steam pressure in order to make the needed repair to a pop off valve. The pop off valves are safety devises built into the hull of the boiler, and after an appropriate amount of time, he began to unscrew the bolt holding the leaking fixture. While turning the socket, the bolt started to slip into the inter hull where the temperature was still very hot, he quickly grabbed the bolt with the left hand as it fell into the inside of the boiler wall. I knew his hand would be cooked, and yelled, LET IT GO DADDY, LET IT GO, but after pushing me back, pulled the hand out, dropping the steel object onto the concrete floor.

 

I could see how bad he was injured, and was concerned he would go into shock, and possibly loose the extremity. Placing him into his 1960 Oldsmobile I drove peddle to the medal through Cullman and to the hospital, the entire trip we both were thinking the same thing.

 

Two weeks later he was released from the hospital, and although it didn’t look normal, the fingers and hand were saved. We talked about this incident many times, and each time his answer was always the same, I knew we couldn’t find another bolt like that for 50 miles around.

 

Like his Papa before him, my dad was self-reliant, keeping a well stocked household, tending to the needs of his loved ones, and helping others as his faith teaches. Yes, I know I’m very lucky to have had such a father.

 

If your father is living today, I urge you, go see him, spend some time with him, and above all else, when your leaving to go home, tell him how much you love him, because one day you’ll recall those visits.

 

HAPPY FATHERS DAY.

 

 

Published U.S. Legacies June 2005