Saturday, January 11, 2020
My Uncle Junior was the rare individual that was seemingly liked by everyone he met. His humble demeanor belied the genius that he truly was. A long-time Watauga County educator once told me, “Your uncle is the smartest man I have ever known.” Perhaps necessity is the mother of invention, and his ability to fix any and everything, to be able to explain how it worked, was an incredible gift that he possessed. Somehow I feel that this ingenuity was born of these mountains that he called home, no matter where in the world he was, and from the salt-of-the-earth characters of my grandparents, George and Ethel Main. Uncle Junior certainly inherited the story-telling DNA of his father (although he never ended his stories with “we wopped ‘em up ‘side the head” like Grandpa did). No matter the subject or the occasion, he could tell a story that had his audience mesmerized, most likely doubled-over with laughter, and always wanting more. At the time of my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary, Uncle Junior shared this story. It made me laugh (and cry), so I would like for you to read it too.
“When Janet and Randel were married in 1953, I was still in the middle of high school and have a lot of recollections of some of the places they lived and a couple of the cars they had along the way. One in particular that brings a chuckle was a ’49 Studebaker Champion, green in color and smoky in demeanor. Not only was the power output anemic, at best, but the oil consumption, if memory serves, made the car easy to recognize before it could be seen, by a cloud of blue smoke hanging in the air.
Sometime after they were married and living in Virginia – Newport News – I think, they would make a periodic trip home to Boone to visit. On one of these trips the men I worked for (Miller Bros. Army Surplus) had taken me with them to Norfolk to drive military surplus amphibians back to Boone. We didn’t go very fast and somewhere between South Boston, VA and Reidsville, NC, the highway we had just traversed was visible for several miles back. Looking back, I saw a large cloud of blue smoke a long distance back from the direction we had come. I said to myself “I didn’t know Janet and Randel were coming home this weekend.” Sure enough! About half an hour later, what do I see in the rear-view mirror but a little green Studebaker pulling out to pass!”
Uncle Junior was a man who loved life, and loved his family more. Through my child-eyes I could see happiness and utter contentment with Aunt Mary, Henry, and Melanie as a young family. After Aunt Mary’s devastating passing, I was so very thankful to Christine for reigniting that spark of life in him, saving him, as together they embarked on one adventure after another, satisfying his never-ending intellectual curiosity. And the stories that were added to his vast repertoire – exotic tales of Montengro resting comfortably alongside familiar tales of the Blue Ridge! This wonderful, humble, gentle man – Uncle Junior, what I wouldn’t give to cook pinto beans and fried cornbread for you, sit on the front porch, and hear just one more story.
Marcella Cannon Bradford
