Preacher

Authur was a close friend in "grade" school.  He was almost exactly one year older - a year and one day actually - his birthday was one day before mine. His home was somewhere in the hills south of US62- I never saw it or visited him at home.  For all eight grades Authur rode a full size bicycle to and from school. This bike had the 26 inch huge balloon tires of the era-the narrow tired european type tires were years away.  In the early school years, his legs were much too short for him to reach the pedals while seated; his only way to ride was to stand on the pedals and slide back and forth over the tank. So much so that after a while, the paint was completely worn off the tank.  But come to school he did, every day, along with a couple of nephews who were also a part of the houshold. Don't know just how far back in the hills they lived; coming to school was probably fairly easy, 'cause it was mostly downhill, but going home in the afternoon must have been a real hard job, with that bicycle.
Authur was the youngest son of a Preacher, but not in the church that most of the community went to.  The Missionary Baptist Church was right next to the school.  It was a far cry from being a liberal institution, but Preacher's church was even more fundamentalist. Pentacostal, I think, strong in their beliefs and independant to a fault.  During the time of WW2, he drove an old single seated Chevvy or Dodge sedan with a "rumble" seat which he had adapted to carry passengers or cargo as he chose. Saturdays, Sundays, and  Wednesday nights he managed to load the entire family in the car and take them to services.
Preacher was convinced that the Bible was written, if not actually by God himself, then by someone who had God's hand on his shoulder as he wrote.  Consequently, what was written in the Holy Word, was true and exact---literally. Someone once engaged him in a discussion of the New Testament story of the conversion of Nicodemus and his subsequent baptism.  You may recall that the King James verison says of Nicodemus that "....he and his house were baptised."  Preacher was asked how this could be since the only known method of baptism was by immersion.  Preacher held his ground.  He said he didn't know just how they did it, but if the Book said the house was baptised, then it was baptised, and that ended the question as far as he was concerned.
In the late 40's, as the small farms were beginning to disappear, the state of Arkansas was beginning to see the advantages of consolidating the one room schools into the larger districts with their schools located in the towns.  In the old system, anyone wishing access to schooling higher than the 8th grade, would have to find their own transportation to the nearest high school (usually 10-20 miles) and pay tuition to high school for the priviledge of attending.  Ten years before I got to high school, my older brother had ridden a bicycle on the gravel highway, (US62 was not paved unitl the mid 50;s) for three and one half miles to the nearest village and pay a fee to ride their bus to the high school, which was another six of seven miles. (I never did the bicycle bit; I found it much faster and easier to hitchhike.)
At the time I began the 9th grade, it was possible for the small one-room schools to voluntarily consolidate with the larger ones, provided a majority of the citizens of the district requested it.  My father, perhaps motivated by the potential relief from the tuition requirement of the high school, circulated a petition requesting consolidation.  . (Bear in mind, I was the only student from the district attending the higher school.)  Most everyone signed - except preacher.  I think he probably had been one of the last ones contacted.
Anyway, he begged to differ.
Actually, he didn't beg; he stood up and fought back. He had heard that the town schools only taught for half-days, and were probably not geared for maximum utilization of students in the tending of the spring crops or the fall harvests.  Small children would be let loose in the town for the other half of the day until the bus returned, as he told it. (half days had been true in the war years, the scheduling was a fact).
So, Preacher, armed with a stack of post cards and pencils, toured the entire district, asking each and every taxpayer to sign a postcard removing their names from the petition. Evidently, he was quite persuaive.  Again, most every one signed.  I'm guessing most really didn't care one way or the other. No doubt Preacher was more experienced in presenting his case than was my dad, who may have been only one left on the sheet, not that Preacher didn't ask him to remove it.
So, for another year, I had to find my way to the village, pay to ride their bus and pay tuition to the high school.  Preacher won, but next year the consolidation was mandated by law and the small family farms were one more step closer to history.