Ralph Berrier by If Trouble Don't Kill Me: A Family's Story of Brotherhood War;Bluegrass

Author:If Trouble Don't Kill Me: A Family's Story of Brotherhood, War;Bluegrass
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General, United States, Country Musicians, Music, Folk & Traditional, Biography & Autobiography, Country & Bluegrass, Genres & Styles, Composers & Musicians, Biography
ISBN: 9780307463067
Publisher: Crown
Published: 2010-08-01T05:00:00+00:00

Little sweetheart come and kiss me

We may never meet again

We may never roam together

Down that dear old shady lane

—“LITTLE SWEETHEART COME AND KISS ME,”

AS PERFORMED BY THE HALL TWINS

Clayton received the news when he got to Camp White. The Ninety-sixth had taken to its new digs on November 1, 1943, following two months of maneuvers in the barren Oregon desert. The mock fighting and very real marching, digging, and shooting had toughened the hillbilly musician. His feet and trigger finger were well callused and he was an expert shot with his M1 rifle, an infantryman’s best friend. His fellow soldiers were just as tough as he was, and the division’s glowing performance in the field had earned it a nickname—the Deadeyes.

Camp White was barely two years old, and its bright white barracks stood out against the tall pines and red hills of southwest Oregon. The bunks were soft as goose feathers and the chow a gourmet feast—at least that’s how it seemed to soldiers who had spent the last sixty days wandering the desert. The mail service was good and finally connected the men to the outside world.

A lieutenant approached Clayton outside the barracks. He handed Clayton a letter and said in a firm voice:

“Your brother is dead. I am very sorry.”

Clayton took the letter and didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t even look at it.

“Which one?”

“I don’t know,” the lieutenant admitted. “It’s all in the letter.”

Clayton looked at the handwriting on the envelope, clearly a woman’s. He saw the return address—Massachusetts Avenue, Roanoke, Virginia. The letter was from Lottie Wilbourne. Dot’s mother. Saford’s mother-in-law.

He could barely bring himself to open it.

The letter began like any other a soldier boy receives from home. Hope this finds you well and in good health. Things are good here … blah, blah, blah … he skipped over the words, looking for the terrible part.

Finally, Lottie got there. She had been listening to the radio and heard the awful news. Roy Hall was dead. He had died in a car wreck. The announcer said that he crashed head-on into one of the trees that guarded the entrance to Eureka Park, one of the two trees he used to speed between when he took the shortcut home. The newspaper said he was dead when officers reached him and that he had slumped over just before the crash. There had been a girl riding with him, a girl named Martha Ferguson.…

It wasn’t Saford.

It wasn’t a brother at all. It was Roy Hall. Roy Hall was dead. The emotional swings Clayton had felt during the previous sixty seconds would’ve staggered a draft horse. He thought he had lost a brother, certain it was his twin, only to learn he hadn’t. But his relief at knowing Saford was alive was swamped by the soul-numbing shock that his old bandleader was dead.

Roy had died in May. Clayton had been so far removed from civilization that the news of Roy Hall’s death took nearly five months to find him.

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