The Forgotten

Five years old; in a white linen suit my Great-Grandmother sewn by hand. Upon it, she pinned a nosegay of violets. L.B. Burnside was my Great-Uncle and the eldest of eleven children; ten boys and one girl. He was born to Lucy Aline Tingle-Burnside and Newton Andrew Burnside, in 1910. L.B. stood for Lynn Broughton. Since Lynn was considered a feminine name, he used his initials when corresponding with the public, and Broughton with his family members and close friends. He was twenty six years old, in 1936, when my Grandfather Burnside was born. Weston was the second to the youngest. Broughton was old enough to be my Grandfather's father - and a father figure he was. There was another child born the following year, in 1937. Ross was a difficult delivery and having had so many children, plus the age of my Great-Grandmother, she nearly lost her life during the home delivery. That was a common thing in her day. The doctor gave a bottle of whiskey to Broughton, and said, "Your mother may need this, if the pain is, too, much." He sat the bottle on the mantel and left. My Great-Uncle noticed over the course of that week, the liquor was inching down, day by day. Come to find out, it was the nursemaid that took a liking to that cheap bottle of whiskey, left there for medicinal purposes only. The year my Grandfather graduated high school, in 1955, their father had a stroke and was bedridden till his death in 1961. Newton Andrew was in a vegetative state, unable to sit up, eat, drink or relieve himself. The hardship of overseeing him was all, too, consuming. But the love his eldest had for him was greater. So, Broughton took on yet another role, as his father's aid and voice.  It was Broughton who took on the role of a parent, to his younger siblings, but he always reminded them, he was not their father, and was to be treated as their brother. The pressure of having ten younger siblings proved to be difficult. Only six married and left home, while the other four remained bachelors, all living in the same house. They were a clannish family and had very peculiar ways about them, as in never discussing family business outside the family home, and sometimes within. They rarely allowed outsiders into their home. Some of these same traits my mother possess. She took after the Burnside family. Broughton fell in love and was on the verge of proposing when  his brother King arrived back from boot camp with another young man, who grew up in the same neighborhood. They both were used in experimental warfare; involving biological or chemical agents. Each came back from training having lost their minds. They just sat and stared, often mumbling. They were trapped in their own thoughts, never regaining their lives. Simply put, they were only a shell of their former selves. To this day the U.S. Government has never disclosed what was given to these two young men, during their time in the U.S. Army. Broughton had to make a decision about his marriage proposal - go through with it or back out of it? It came down to family and loving her enough to set her free from a life that would consume them both, had they married. Much had to be done in regard to his brothers, notably his brother King. Yet he loved Miss Louise Chisholm; he did - enough to let her go.  There was only one occasion a child in that household had a whipping, and that child was Brown. At twelve years old, he decided to jump a freight train headed to New Orleans, just to see where he would end up. By the time Southern Railroad boarded him on the next train back to Meridian, his mother was waiting at the depot with a hug and a strap. This was her first and last attempt in using corporal punishment, but the hugs never stopped. Broughton had to keep an eye on his brother Norris. Norris was married. He and his wife had five sons. and He was unable to hold a job, due to alcoholism. All the brothers tried to keep him busy, thinking as long as he was productive he would not have time to drink. But alcoholics are clever, they will keep a stash close by, to sip on through the day. He was no longer able to work at the family owned and operated gas station. His verbal attacks on the customers was bad for business - the few times he would show up to work. This lead to a wage cut, a form of 'tough love' and eventually, a lost position. He was then unemployed. Who was going to feed his wife and five sons? Broughton, of course. Since he was the head of the family, that responsibility went to him. Unlike Norris, he never neglected those children or their mother. He was a Godsend.  Towards the end of his life, his brother Brown, the one who hopped the freight train headed to New Orleans, had lived with Broughton all his life. Brown took a fall and fractured his hip. Once released from the hospital, he was transported to the only home he had ever known. Less than a week, Broughton was trying to help Brown out of bed. His frail body could not support the weight placed on it, and it took him to the floor. He felt something snap and sure enough, his hip was fractured. This may seem like a coincidence, but across town, that same day, their brother Brunner slipped and fractured his hip, too. There were three Burnside brothers on the same floor at Anderson's Hospital. It was there Broughton passed away at the age of 84, due to complication from hip surgery. 2525 Highland Avenue: That was the address of Newton Andrew and Lucy Aline Tingle-Burnside. I took a tour of the family home. The home my Great-Grandmother, who who was 100 years my senior, passed away in. The home my Grandfather was raised. The home my mother spent her weekends and summers. That old house still sits on the same corner lot. As I walked about the rooms, if only for a moment, I could hear the sounds of those ten boys and one girl. A house holds onto the lives of those who once lived there. The creaks and the squeaks are the moans and groans of those people. This house had a front porch, with a painted blue ceiling.  Broughton never married. He never had children of his own. In many ways, he was a lonely man. It is like being in a room filled with people, yet feeling you are the only one there. This is how life was for him. He gave all he had, till there was not anything left to give. Strange that a man should live that long, and be so much to so many, yet hardly any one remember him, but a few. I shan't forget. Below is a photograph of my Great-Grandmother Lucy Aline Tingle-Burnside, my Mother Denise, my Uncle Weston, Jr. and my Great-Uncle L.B. Burnside, circa 1960's.  L. B. Burnside, Weston, Jr. and Denise