Carrie

"Pancho needs your prayers, its true

but save a few for Lefty too

he just did what he had to do,
and now he's growing old."



Towns Van Zant

"Pancho and Lefty"

recorded by Willy Nelson, and others

April 2024, Piggott

West out of Kennett, across the St Francis into Arkansas; Clay County, to be precise.  Flatland, straight roads, all running either North/South or East/West.  Mixed crops, corn, beans, cotton and others, good black land.  Once across the river and its accompanying levee, road turns sharply north for a mile or so then ninety degrees left; pick the first road to the right and stay with it till you hit US 62.  Left for maybe a mile and a half and you are there.
Piggott Arkansas.  Sort of a sleepy county seat still hanging on at the edge of the string of red gravel hills called Crowley 's Ridge. Population around 3500, a growth of maybe 1000 in the seventy years since high school.
"Slow down, Jim, or you might miss it. And watch out for the traffic light."  Steve is cranked again, obviously excited by being here and soaking up the familiar sights. Town hasn't changed much he says..
Jim is recording.
"Nephew lives just over there, only family name still in the county, I think, maybe not, could be a couple that I've lost track of.  High school there on the left, old school that I went to burned years ago. It had been there at least since the 30's.  Had teachers who spent their life there, knew my brother who was there ten years before, always asking, 'you as smart as your brother?'  How do you answer that?  Maybe I was, but probably lazier, always looking for the simplest and easiest way to get anything done."
He was on a roll now.  " See the bank over there? Remember the guy I told you about that bought the Wilson plantation down near Memphis?  He owned the bank here.  It used to be down on the corner across from the Court house. Saw Gaylon at one of the reunions, must've been '01, always had them around the Fourth of July to coincide with the annual picnic, traditionally the time every year when the folks who live elsewhere come back home to visit."
"Didn't get to talk much at the rubber chicken dinner; reunions in a dry county are a bit boring, but he gave me a couple of phone numbers and asked me to call him the next day, July third, I think it was.  I called and we talked for quite a spell; I jokingly asked where one could get a drink around here."
"go to  Missouri'", he says, then "I have to be down there tomorrow, on the 4th, meet me over at the bank.'" "Bank's closed."  says I,  "Tomorrow is the 4th."
"I'll call the manager, have her open it, got a nice conference room."
 "See you tomorrow 'bout one."  He hung up.
"He showed up, as promised, with a fifth of Jack Daniels, and the doors were open, as promised.  It was a wonderful afternoon."
"Lot of stories here; I only know a bit about just a few.  For example, that's a relatively new court house there on the square; old one burned down, years back, accidentally, I suppose.  Lot of local politics practiced here, some of it not too pretty. Pretty basic stuff, as were the private lives, but a bit raw on occasion."

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Spring, 1939, West of Pollard

She knew they were coming today, the Judge had told her that at the hearing and the Sheriff's letter last week had told the date.

Rising early, dressed in her best Sunday dress and walking shoes complete with silk stockings and a wrap for her shoulders against the spring chill.  A cup of black coffee and a warmed over biscuit with jam was all there was for breakfast; she fixed the same for Walter.  Neither was hungry, for some reason.
Walter busied himself with the morning chores; she sat at what she called her library table in the living room, watched the road and remembered.

Remembered how fate had brought her here and twisted her world.

............

Oldest child of an immigrant German grocer who left the old country with his wife and baby girl in search of a better life in America.  Heinrich Grossmann had served in the Kaiser's navy, learned a trade and lived in constant fear of a recall to service.  He had no desire to fight and believed a better life was to be had in the new land.  Shortening the name, he became Harry Gross and established a thriving grocery in the small town of Dexter Missouri.  His accent earned him the nickname "Dutch".  The Gross household soon had three other children, all boys; they occupied a fashionable home in the better section.  They maintained their faith through the small but strong Catholic congregation.  Carrie helped  her mother in the management of the home, and, as the boys grew older, became the primary manager.  A live-in domestic helper, a teenage young girl from one of the farm communities came to live with them and became not only a helper, but a friend to Carrie. Lela worked in this role until she was almost twenty, married and moved away.  She and Carrie became a part of a group of young people that included, among others, Lela's future husband, Henry and her older brother, Walter.

As others married or moved away, the group gradually broke up.  Her brothers grew up and dispersed; she found herself without friends, lonely and little purpose in life.  She found in Walter the perfect complement to her forceful, "take charge" personality.  Walter was a dreamer, younger than Carrie, bright, capable and well-read, but without any particular goals or ambitions.  They were married in fine fashion and in the tradition of her church.

Through her correspondence she had learned that her friend, Lela and her husband had purchased their own farm in Arkansas, and, there was an adjoining farm just to the west that was now for sale.  On a hunch, Carrie and Walter travelled to Arkansas.  It was fifty acres of bottom land and had small three room house and a barn for animals.  Using the majority of her dowry, they made a substantial down payment and signed a note for the remainder.  They had their own home and were able to furnish it with furniture contributed by her family.  Life was good.

But Carrie didn't fit in.  She was a stranger, a city girl who knew nothing of the farm life and consequently was not able to provide much help in the crops.  She was Catholic, now living in a strong, vocal, fundamentalist protestant community; the nearest Catholic congregation thirty miles away.  Although she had no accent as such, her German background sometimes showed up in her grammar.  For example, she had the German language trait of assignment of a male or female gender to almost everything; a snake was "she" and her syntax sometimes reversed the subject and predicate of the sentence.  Her life had always been one of daily contact with people; here the nearest neighbor was at least a quarter mile away; no other homes were visible from her window.  Her friend Lela lived on the adjoining farm, but her growing family and helping with the farm took almost all her time. 

The extroverted, gregarious Carrie was lonely.  She remembered the good times, rare but poignant, like when Lela's oldest, a daughter, was married.  A simple ceremony, conducted in the parent's home, with the youngest, Steven aged five, screaming at the top of his lungs because his sister was leaving.  She was able to quiet the child and allow the marriage to proceed.  She liked Stevie, and he took to her attentions. She had no children of her own, so they became close. He liked Aunt Carrie's  playing with him and Uncle Walter told him stories.  He was happy.

When an enterprising owner of an aging school bus began a two trip per day bus service between the county's twin county seats, Carrie found that, by walking the half mile to the highway, she could take the morning bus to town, spend a few hours in the library, and return in time to prepare the evening meal.  She became friends with the librarian and, on a slow weekday, could spend the day in conversation and learn all the current gossip..  This included the real and imagined political exploits and schemes of local government.

At last, something she understood and was interested in.  She saw wrongdoing, knew it was wrong and set about correcting it.

She wrote letters to local officials, went to meetings, met with officials.
She was advised to desist; she ignored them and wrote more letters to higher officials. 
She was ignored.
She was investigated.  Who was this person?  New to the county, female, Catholic, German background, meddlesome, persistent. Was she a spy for the NAZI's? Was she unbalanced?
They fought back; filed a request that the court seek medical opinion of her stability and if warranted, declare her legally incompetent and order appropriate treatment. 
There was a hearing, testimony by county officials, opinions of doctors.
The County Judge was an elected official.  All the doctors worked and lived in town.
She refused to speak.

The Court found her to be legally incompetent, and of questionable mental stability.  She was remanded to the State Mental Hospital in Little Rock for examination and treatment as needed.
Sheriff was ordered to make the necessary arrangements and deliver the patient to Little Rock as quickly as possible.  It was common knowledge that the "treatments" carried out at the State Mental Hospital were crude, bordering on barbaric and sadism. Everyone knew of someone who had been sent there; hardly anyone knew of anyone who had returned, improved or not.  Carrie was released on her own recognizance and ordered to not leave the county.  She would be notified when the arrangement were complete.  The letter had come last week from the sheriff saying he would come today.

...........

She watched the two figures approach, walking gingerly and sidestepping the muddier portions and puddles from last night's rain.  Vehicle access to the property was by way of a dirt and gravel road from the highway downhill to the farmhouse on the property just east.  From there, through the barn lot and downhill to the property line, then a stretch of flat to the little three room house that she called home.  This access allowed automobiles as far as the neighboring farmhouse, and maybe on a dry day, on down to the next farm.  The sheriff had wisely chosen to leave his car at the gate to the barnyard and walk the quarter mile Walter and Carrie's home. 
She recognized the County Sheriff, a middle aged man, easily six feet, heavy but not fat, fresh khakis, short jacket, semi-cowboy hat and his badge pinned loosely on the left front shirt pocket.  He carried no weapons.  His companion was a young deputy, maybe twenty or so, similarly dressed, except for the hat for which he substituted a short billed driving cap, favored by policemen and cab drivers everywhere; he, too, was tall, but thin.  His wide belt held a holster on the left side, flap buttoned down and mostly covered by his open short jacket.

Walter opened the door.  Sheriff glanced into the living room,
"Morning, Walter, may we come in?"
Walter nodded, pushed back the door and stepped aside.

"Miz. Carrie", touching the brim of his hat. "This is Deputy Johnson, I suppose you know why we're here?"
She nodded acknowledgement. "I'll get my things." Placing the wrap across her shoulders, she picked up a small carpetbag and her purse. "I'm ready."
To Walter, Sheriff says, "You can come with us as far as town, I'll have one of the boys bring you home."
With Walter carrying her purse the little group walked slowly up the hill to Sheriff's car, deputy carrying the carpetbag.  Sheriff sat up front, Walter and Carrie in the backseat, Johnson drove.
There was no conversation.

Seated in the sheriff's office in the courthouse, they waited while Sheriff collected his paperwork and made a few calls.  Deputy Johnson chatted quietly with the on-duty deputy/clerk/dispatcher.

Carrie cleared her throat, "Excuse me, Deputy, will he be long?"
"No ma'am, I don't think so."
"Will this be a long drive?"
"Three hours, four at most."
"Would it be OK if I went to the bathroom?"
Johnson looked at the dispatcher, who shrugged.
"Sure, I'll just go along, mind the door for you,"

The ladies bathroom was across the hall and three doors down, near the east entrance.  She went inside; Johnson stood across the hall from the bathroom door and nearer the entrance.  The door to Sheriff's office opened, dispatcher's head popped out, looked up and down the hall, "Johnson?"
"Yeah?, what is it?"
"Sheriff wants to know where you might have put the lady's file."
"It's in the file cabinet."
"Well, he can't find it. Can you come get it for him?"

Johnson glanced at the bathroom door, then back at the dispatcher, hesitated a moment, then walked back to  the office.  Passing the dispatcher at the door, he said, "Keep an eye on the bathroom door for me, will you?  She's still inside"., and walked through to the back office.  Sounds of file drawers opening and closing came from the other room, finally he emerged with a thick folder, placed it on the dispatcher's desk.  "Somebody moved it.  She still in there?"
"Nothing's changed".
" been a while, suppose she's OK?  Should I check?"
"I would."
He knocked.  No answer. Knocked louder, called her name. Still no answer.
He tried the door.  Locked!  He called again, knocking even louder.
Looking at the dispatcher, almost in panic says, " Get the Sheriff, and see if you can find the key to this place."
Sheriff appeared, Johnson says, "Did he find the key?"
"He's looking. What the Hell happened?"
"Nothing, I hope."

.............



After the OK, Carrie had picked up her purse and walked down the hall to the ladies room, Johnson following.  She closed the door; the deputy took up his post across the hall and near the East door.  She took off her right shoe and removed her silk stocking, then stepped to the mirror and straightened her hair. 
As a child, her father had shown her knots he had learned in the navy; one was a slip knot, which, if tied properly, was almost impossible to untie, short of cutting the rope.  He had tied the knot around her wrist and challenged her to untie it.  After failing the challenge, she had insisted that she be shown how it was tied, and why it was impossible to loosen.  She never forgot. 

She knew that what she was about to do was a terrible sin in the eyes of her church, but she also knew what lay in store for her at the hospital.  She prayed for forgiveness, then, watching the mirror to be sure it was done correctly, she pulled the stocking into a rope and tied it around her neck with the slipknot, then, using her purse for a pillow, lay down on the tile floor, straightened her clothing, and pulled with all her strength to tighten the rope.  She folded her hands across her chest, closed her eyes and waited.  It did not take long.

.............



The key eventually arrived, Sheriff unlocked the door, calling her name.  He stepped inside and discovered Carrie on the floor, clothing and hair unruffled, right shoe and stocking removed, stocking knotted about her neck, face discolored but with a strangely calm expression.  He stared in disbelief, glared at Johnson, and, muttering an obscenity, knelt beside the body. A quick check revealed no pulse, no breathing. 

He tried the knot, failed. "Johnson, gimme your knife!.  And get Doc Barnes, and the Coroner. and don't talk to nobody 'till I get the whole story.  Move!"

Artificial respiration was unknown in 1939; she was beyond help.  Walter had watched the entire scene in stunned silence.  Sheriff  discovered him; turned to the dispatcher, "Take Walter back to the office, get him some coffee; stay with him."

Coroner's Jury said it was suicide.  Some wondered.

She returned to her home town for her funeral and burial.

Walter sold the farm; moved back to Dexter.

There were many questions; precious few answers.
 

"She only did what she had to do.  

(instead of growing old.)"

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Steve was quiet now.  "I'm tired; don't want to spend the night here, lets go back to Kennett."
Jim switched off the recorder, drove in silence around the square once more, then headed East on 62.