My Buddy

Knowledge is power. Right?

Well, that's a good thing, I guess. Depending on what type of power it may be.

Regardless, I once knew a man that knew a lot. His brain was like an encyclopedia of knowledge. Powered by the likes of the Wall Street Journal, American Heritage, H.G. Wells, a plethora of local papers, books, books, books and life. He was really gifted.

His name was John, but everyone called him Buddy. Don't ask me why, I never heard that part of the story. Regardless, he was born in 1918 and had one of the most vivid perceptions of the Great Depression that I had access to.

Buddy's father died when he was only a baby and he, his mother and his sister managed just as everyone did in those days. His Grandfather Cash was a business man in Dawson Springs and he had a lot of influence on his younger years as well as his Uncle Clyde Woodruff, who made a very lasting impact on Buddy.

The man knew all sorts of stories about characters in Dawson Springs. He knew stories that went deep into the history of the town. He was a great story teller. In fact a good deal of the information that I know today, about my hometown, came from Buddy. I spent many Sunday afternoons entertained by him. He had served in World War II aboard the Leary, if my memory serves me correctly, a destroyer. He was on the deck when the flag went up over Iwo Jima; and such were the kinds of historical things he knew all about and took part in too.

This is the person that made me interested in reading. He had subscriptions to an uncommonly high amount of magazines and newspapers, at least compared to anyone else I knew. He read all the time and was constantly up to date on current affairs and revisited history. Somewhere around the time that I turned sixteen he began sharing these magazines with me from week to week. I learned quickly that I should read them since the next week that would be the topic of discussion. I learned a great deal from those sessions of back and forth. Today I am still reading some of the same publications that he subscribed to then.

Buddy worked at the New Century Hotel, in Dawson Spring, during the 1930s. He remembered the town when it was in it's heyday. He worked his way up from a bellman, who bellowed out "New Century" as the trains rolled into the depot, to an assistant to the owner(manager). The owner also had a great deal of influence on Buddy in those days. An outside voice who knew what was beyond the horizon, so to speak. Before the War this man left Dawson Springs to start up a new hotel in Florida. Buddy had been such a great help to him that he urged Buddy to join him with the idea of making a fortune. But that was not for Buddy, he thought he could make his own.

Buddy worked for the United States Postal Service for thirty years or more. He started out as a substitute carrier and took every test he could and was eventually promoted to Postal Inspector. He spent his working years in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

In the 1970s upon retirement he lingered back to Dawson Springs and later married my Nannie, Brunette Franklin, after the death of my Grandfather Decola. Everyone that knew Buddy was aware of the fact that he was a wise man and no one knew, or appreciated that more than me. There were times that I didn't know what he was exposing me to because I was too young or naive even. But as life rolls out I often revert back to ideas or history that he has shared with me. All along he was opening a door to me, a door to knowledge, and as I said before: knowledge is power.

Buddy passed away at the age of eighty four. I won't go so far as to say anything about Buddy making a fortune or anything like that. However I am really glad that he didn't take that job in Florida, if he did he might not have made it back in time to be my Grandfather. And it just wouldn't have been the same without him.