Tuesday Voice: The Byron Wilson I knew

He opened up my world

By Ed Rogers

My Uncle Byron had been sick for as long as I could remember. I say, “Uncle Byron,” but for some reason I can’t remember ever calling him anything but “Byron.”
    My Uncle had Parkinson’s disease. His hands would shake so bad he couldn’t feed himself.
    His speech was such that unless you were around him for a long time, you wouldn’t be able to understand a word he was saying.
    To look at Byron you would never think that this body held the most creative mind I have ever known.
    My mother’s brother, Gayle Phillips, worked for Bryon during the depression. At the time, Byron owned a country store and a wood working shop, which was out past Becker, Mississippi.
    My Uncle Gayle told me they built toys made of wood, and Byron sold them all around northern Mississippi. Gayle said Byron had a pump in the lake that sent water to a large wooden tank above the wood shop, which fed a wood-fired steam boiler. The steam from the boiler turned the saws, because gas was rationed. He said he never could figure out how the pump in the lake worked, as there was no electricity, and Byron wouldn’t tell anyone.
    I was fortunate enough to be at that age where the world was still a magical place and Byron was willing to take a young boy’s hands and use them as if they were his own.
    He never seemed to think I was too young to do anything. With saw and hammer we built many soapbox cars. I would take them up the hill beside the Wilson Store and with my head bent low I’d fly down the rough concrete sidewalks.
    He never showed me how to put a brake on those cars, and more times than not the run would end in a crash. Byron would almost fall down laughing. I would pick up the parts of the soapbox and we would head back to the store and start rebuilding for the next great downhill race.

One of the most amazing things I learned from Byron has stayed with me. It allowed me to understand how all things that moved had to use a power source. When you are a little boy of 10 you never think about how a car runs or what a power source even is, nor would you think a young boy would care.
    Byron would get me and start telling me to go find things. I never really knew what we were going to do until all the parts were in place. One time he had me on the roof tarring bad places that were leaking. Here was a 10-year-old boy and a man who should never have been climbing a ladder up on a hot roof together. In my mind's eye that is quite a sight, but at the time I didn’t think anything about it. Byron would say we needed to do something and away we would go.
    This time Byron wanted me to get a big Prince Albert can, an old bike pump and five bricks from under the house.
    Only a young boy would go crawling around under an old house looking for a tobacco can and a broken pump and think of it as an adventure.
    I met Byron behind the store with my booty, somewhat proud that I had been able to find everything he had wanted in a very short time.
    He had me get a bucket and make up some mud. I used the mud as mortar for the bricks, and I mortared two bricks one on top of the other about five inches apart. Then I placed one across the back.
    Byron had me take the pump apart until all I had was a long pipe. He then had me chip a “V” in the back brick and set the pipe over it. The Prince Albert can we filled 3/4 with water.
    With the mud I sealed the pipe and can to the bricks. On the top of the can I punched a hole and put in a small copper pipe.
    Byron then had me get some wood and start a fire under the can. In a short time smoke was coming out of the stack and steam was coming out of the copper tube.
    Byron had shown me how to build a steam engine.

Byron also taught me a lesson about electricity.
    There was a short in a switch under the counter in the store. My aunt called an electrician to repair it. He was a friend of Byron’s and Byron was right down there with him. Being nosy, I had to see what was going on also.
    I saw the electrician touching each wire to find out which ones were live and which were not. I asked him, “How can you touch those wires? Don’t they shock you?”
    He said, “No, there’s no shock at all. Give me your hand and I’ll show you.”
    I thought, This guy must think he’s dealing with a fool.
    I took a step back and said, “No way! You’re just trying to shock me.”
    He kept on about how I wouldn’t get shocked, all the time fingering the wires.
    Byron said, “Go ahead. It won’t hurt you.”
    I said, “If that is so, you touch his hand.”
    Byron didn’t say a word, just reached over and took the man’s hand.
    Then, putting his hand out to me, he said, “See, I told you it doesn’t hurt.”
    Well, I could not look like a baby now, could I?
    With a great deal of distrust. I reached out to take Byron’s hand.
    The shock put me on my butt about three feet away.
    I don’t know who was laughing harder, Byron or the electrician.
    I had learned that electric current increases as it passes through each person.

I was mad at Byron and would’t talk to him for a good week.
    Then a dog showed up half starved to death, and with a bad case of the mange.
    This may be hard to believe, but I had never seen a dog with the mange. Looking back on it, I think that is why Byron kept the dog.
    I think it was his way of saying he was sorry about the electrical shock, although he never put it into words.
    He had me get a rope and tie the dog up. Then get some food and water. I don’t remember if we ever named the dog. If we did, I’ve forgotten the name. So he’ll just be “Dog.”
    There was a black man who owned a garage up the hill and around the corner from Wilson Store. Byron had me take a large can and get some used motor oil.
    I had no idea what the motor oil was for, but when I told the man that Byron wanted it for a sick dog we had found, he acted like it was something he was asked for every day. I started thinking maybe there was something about this motor oil that everybody knew but me.
    By the time I got back to store with the oil, Dog had made himself at home in one of the boxes that had been thrown in back of the store.
    Byron came out and showed me how to cover the area with the used oil and told me I had to keep oil on Dog until I could see new hair growing.
    After about a week I began to doubt Byron. I had not forgotten the electricity.
    However, by the end of the second week I was starting to see some improvement. By the third week new hair was coming in, and it wasn’t long before Dog filled out and had a pretty coat of fur.
    Dog was a nice dog, and Byron liked having him guard the back of the store. I don’t know what ever happened to him. I came out to feed him one day and he was just gone. Byron said some animals and some people just can’t stay in one place for long. No matter how good they have it, they just have to see what is over the next hill.

I was somewhat like that. We moved to Texas, and from there I just about went around the world, only to end up right back in Mississippi and now in Costa Rica.
    The next time I saw Byron he was sicker, and I was older. I wish I had thanked him for that summer, but it wasn’t until he was gone that I realized what a wonderful gift he had given me.
    As the world was closing in on Byron, he opened the world up to a 10-year-old boy.
    It’s been a great ride. Thank you, Byron.
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Copyright © 2013 by Ed Rogers
[Uncle Byron appeared in another story by Ed Rogers: “Little Bit,” published on September 17. He will be mentioned again in the story, “The Mule Ride,” published on October 22.]

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