My life really started to take on some sort of form when, at the age of nine years old, I began working in our local grocery store. W and R (Rountree’s Grocery) was almost on the bank of The Mighty Ogeechee and was operated by the Rountree Family. That family is still very central to my life today.
My mind never strays from those days in that old store. I have so many memories from those days. I think back on all I learned about the grocery store business, but more importantly, the things I learned about life. The Rountree family imparted so much knowledge to me, but mainly it was their love that they so freely shared that has impacted me so much.
Beyond that family was the multitude of people, other families, that shopped at that store. It was really the epicenter of our whole community, not just Midville, but out in the country as well. It seemed as if everybody came to shop there. I was exposed to so many people, goodhearted people, that shared so much with me.
In the last few days my mind has been flooded with thoughts of some of those people who frequented W and R. I remember Wilbur and Ruby Lewis fondly. Miss Ruby was one of the sweetest women I have ever known. Whenever she came in to shop, she would always have on a beautiful dress and would be made up perfectly. Mr. Wilbur wore a little brim hat and would be dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt.
The fact that they went to great lengths to be dressed up to shop in that old store speaks volumes about who they were as people. Shopping in that old store mattered to them. I was always delighted to see them. Mr. Wilbur always winked at me and nodded his head while Miss Ruby hugged my neck every time without fail. They never failed to show me their love
Oliver and Lizzie Williams were regulars at the grocery store. Lizzie was also known as Little Bit, which is what I lovingly referred to her as. They, too, always had a smile on their faces and Little Bit had a hug at the ready for me. Oliver gave me the same head nod and I understood.
They lived outside of town in the country just a couple of miles away from the store. When I could drive, which was before sixteen, I would visit them often. They would grow a big garden each year and always shared their bounty with my family. Bear in my mind they were in their eighties during this time in my life.
Little Bit told my mama over and over that she would take me in and raise me if need be. She was aptly named because she was a little bitty woman, but her heart was as big as Texas. I remember vividly, on many occasions, she would walk in with a mason jar full of shelled butterbeans for me to take home.
She would always say “take these to Miss Martha (my mama) so she could cook them for her baby”. Although I was my mama’s baby child, Little Bit was referring to me as her baby. Lord that woman loved me and I loved her just the same. She picked and shelled butterbeans for me well into her late eighties, that’s love in its purest form.
Miss Mary Ida Jones Harper was a true southern lady in every regard. She wore beautiful skirts every day that she would have paired with an appropriate matching shirt. She also wore full length aprons over those skirts so as not to get them dirty. She drove Buick station wagons that were green or brown with the woodgrain insert in the center of the paint scheme.
She had a Cadillac at home, but it was only driven on Sundays in true southern fashion. Miss Mary Ida was a retired schoolteacher, and I was always told she was a strict disciplinarian. She was a very intelligent woman; she was proper and well-mannered to a fault. I loved her dearly.
She always had a smile and a laugh for me which never failed to make me smile. She made me take out the tray of stew beef and put it on the counter. She picked the pieces out one by one, no fat pieces were allowed. She cooked that stew beef along with scrambled eggs for her beloved Brittany Spaniels every morning.
She commanded respect which I gladly gave her because she gave me so much more. I think she was the only person who would give me a tip for taking her groceries to the car. Two greenback dollars was big money when I was a young boy. When she died at 96 years old, I was there to pay my respects. Her death was like a library burning down because so much knowledge of our local history died with her.
W.J. Nasworthy, known to me as “Mr. Bounce”, was as good a human being that ever drew a breath. He helped out at the store when needed and it was pure delight for me to be in his presence. He and his wife, Miss Vera, shopped there as well. She didn’t tolerate any stuff and kept my mischievous little self in line.
Mr. Bounce was an old meat cutter and helped us make sausage. He was such a kind, good man, but he was somewhat mischievous himself. I had gone on a school field trip one Saturday and he was working at the store in my absence. I made it back about 4 in the afternoon and went on to work.
I told Mr. Bounce all about the field trip, every little detail and didn’t leave out a thing. I was bragging about the number of cheeseburgers I ate. He walked over to a shelf and grabbed a bottle of Castor Oil. He then held me down on the floor and poured the whole bottle down my throat. He enjoyed it immensely, I however, did not.
All of the folks I’ve made mention of in this article were truly wonderful people. There are many others as well, who left an indelible mark on my life. I have long since known that the years spent in that old grocery store were priceless. As time continues to pass, I see more and more how the time spent in that store and of course, the people, helped to shape me and the course of my life.
