December 4, 2023 - When WWII began in 1941, Daddy moved us to Orange, Texas to his new job at the shipyard. That trip of 100 miles was one we kids never forgot. We crawled into the bed of an old truck just big enough for us and our few sticks of furniture. The heads of five grinning Fincher kids popping up and down was probably a sight to see---even in 1941. The thing I most remember about Orange in 1942 was the rain. The ditches stayed full of rain water and all the neighborhood kids swam in them. We later moved back to Center into a house owned by Buford Russell on The Arcadia Road. The Sandy Creek Iron Bridge was a short walk from us and we lugged home many stringers of “poly-wog” catfish fishing off it.
One day as we were fishing, a man walked up and asked if we wanted some peanuts. “My hay loft is full of drying peanuts…” Y’all can climb up and eat all you want,” he said. “My name is Steve Stevens and y’a’ll can eat ‘em any time you like,” he said. Picking them off the vines took time, but was well worth it.
Mr. Stevens had a horse named “Trixi,” a mare named “Nellie” with her colt, and a mule named “Maudemer.” He said we could ride them all, but “you gotta learn to saddle ‘em first.” Maudemer was fun to ride and easy to saddle, but when she got ready to go home, she’d high-tail it back to the barn. One day while I rode her at full speed, she suddenly stopped at the creek’s edge and I slid over her head into the water. I expected her to run on home, but when she just stood there nudging me with her nose, I crawled back on her and rode her back home.
Nellie was a sweet mare, but trying to saddle and ride her was almost impossible. Her colt would bite me as I saddled her mother and later ran along beside us while biting my legs. I rode Trixi one time. She jumped the creek with me and I rode her till we got to the corn patch. She suddenly bucked me off and as she was running away, I could see that the saddle was barely hanging on. She was standing still when I got to the barn and I had no trouble taking off the hanging saddle. Mr. Stevens never knew what happened and I was not about to tell him.
One morning he told us to pick three bushels of peas and he would give us a surprise. When we’d finished, he drove up, handed us a large card board box, and smiled as he drove away. We quickly opened the box and found it full of candy---candy we could rarely ever buy. We were laughing and enjoying every bite when Bill said, ”Look!... there’s a worm!”… and the box began working alive with them. We never told Mr. Stevens about it because he was honest and knew it would hurt his feelings. But I clearly remember those good days… and I also remember that good man…
… Mr. Steve Stevens.
