Page 9 - May 2015 Catalyst

THE STRENGTH OF A WOMAN
By Gladys Grimaud | Continued from page 6
and my pesky younger brother. My brother, Ritter, was nine years old, three years younger than I, and always trying to agitate me and start a fight. Even before we left, Ritter was sneering and smirking trying to get something going. It would be a long trip with Ritter picking at me while Bitsy yelped with that high shrill bark that sounded like an opera singer in pain. Bitsy supposedly had some kind of magical powers that would heal Mama’s asthma so there was no getting rid of Bitsy, and Ritter, well, he was her
can... with just enough space to open the front door between the trailers. After living in Rob- ins Trailer City for some time, Daddy moved us to a better location near where Aunt Ruby and Uncle Tip lived on Japonica Street in Augusta.
As destiny would have it, we moved to a dusty road off Sand Bar Ferry Road near the Savan- nah River levee where I would meet Joe Gri- maud, who lived in the two-story farmhouse across the road. Joe was sixteen years old and
“And last, but not least, her strength came from God who promises that we are more than conquerors through Him that loves us”
son. I longed for a secret trap door with a hid- den handle that I could quietly and deliciously reach down and pull the handle that would make them disappear for awhile, but alas, it was only wishful thinking. I would just have to make the best of it, endure both Bitsy’s barking and Ritter’s taunting black eyes, and hope that this move to Augusta would be worth it.
Jobs were plentiful at the Savannah River Bomb Plant but housing was not, so most of the new hires had to live in trailers. Robins Trailer City...and others like it...sprang up overnight with over a thousand trailers parked closely to- gether to accommodate as many workers and theirfamiliesaspossible. ThetrailersinRobins Trailer City were side by side...like sardines in a
I was twelve, and the first time I saw him, he was sitting on a green John Deere tractor cut- ting the grass in the corner of the lawn that faced our trailer. He sure looked cute with his wavy brown hair f lopping across his brow in the summer breeze. Our family went to Aunt Ruby’s and Uncle Tip’s every evening to play horseshoes and Joe soon discovered that the new girl in the neighborhood with the long brown hair in a pony tail skipping along the road in red shorts was Freddie Golden’s cousin. While I skipped along to Freddie’s house, the toes of my bare feet dug into the Georgia red clay and sand. Joe followed along about ten feet behind, listening as I called out, “Bye, Peaches.
Continued on next page
May 2015
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