The Red Tin Roof

Things and acts seem to come and go in color in Henrys life, as though he were looking through a tube-like kaleidoscope. If we turned the dial of the scope we will perhaps see The Tin Roof. It resembles a Japanese-styled roof, with its crimps and its rich red color, it was quaint but not universally accepted. Property owners viewed it with contempt and didnt care for the occupants who lived under this oriental design, the Beasleys. There were some individuals in this quiet neighborhood who actually loved it, without this red tin roof their lives would have no meaning. The lovers were Henry Jackson and his cousin, Tommy Lee. Their house towered above several houses as it was on a mound and surrounded by a rich hedge of shrubbery, a citadel for the rock throwers who looked forward to the Beasleys cry, You better stop throwing on this tin roof! The reply was robust: Hee, Hee! Fortunately, the enemy were not the military type, they didnt resort to b-b guns, or even slingshots, either weapon would have ignored a mere 45 degree angle that the Beasleys faced. The Jacksons held the high ground as the marines would say. How many enemies dwelled in the tin-roofed home was hard to calculate, but they all hated the citadel dwellers. The Beasleys came out in shifts... and would one day surprise the Jacksons by developing a throwing arm among them... Theres another image in the scope, along with singing The Amazing Grace. All the families on Elm Street were awakened one night at a rather late hour by an intruder. In the Walker house where the Jackson family dwelled with Mrs. Jacksons aunt, everybody was up and peering out the side windows toward the home of the strong man, Isaac, the ebony Charles Atlas. Dozens of kids always surrounded him and pleaded, Do me, Isaac! They wanted to be muscled up in the air by this weightlifting young man. All eyes strained to get a glimpse of the troubadour who was, some said, a cross between Leadbelly and Fats Wailer, but it was a rich and compelling voice. It gave the youngsters in the Walker house a reason for staying up so late. Some lights were turned on in several houses and shone through the rain which by now had become somewhat like a mist. The singer was momentarily silent, but after a brief pause he would beat on the door between shouts, Damn it woman! Open this door! The Jacksons and the Walkers talked quietly among themselves. It was obvious to them the man the man had turned down the wrong street and had found an unsuspecting house that looked like his. The Jackson boy would remember this big house surrounded by hedges and a gazebo on the front lawn; the red headed boy with many freckles. Red, they called him, this ball of energy that matched Tommy Lees, Henrys live-in cousin. His wrestling skills were far above Henrys who until now reigned as king. Tommy respected such power. This country boy from the eastern region of Georgia did not take the precaution the cousins did when they went snake hunting, as he bare-handed snakes as he quickly plucked up rocks while the cousins used forked sticks. Dont you ever use a stick? inquired the cousins. Jackson would remember the back stabbing by his mothers aunt who benefited from her nieces husband, Henry senior, and his paychecks that saved her from financiaL doom. She showed her gratitude by inviting the Jacksons to move in, after all, we are family. We will pull together in these tough days, God help us! One day she called the police to evict them they didnt pay the rent, she charged! Who else paid it? The Walkers didnt have ajob between them. Mr. Henry senior, as usual, didnt say a word, but wore a look of disgust as he looked for a place to move to. Aunt Walker eyed the recently bought bedroom suite of her niece, and being a reasonable Christian woman she offered a compromise, the bedroom suite for the unpaid rent. Years later the Jackson boy would ask his mother if she had forgiven her aunt when the two wo

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Many children growing up in the Soviet Union before World War II knew the meaning of deprivation and dread. But for the son of an “enemy of the people,” those apprehensions were especially compounded. When the secret police came for his father in 1938, ten-year-old Anatole Konstantin saw his family plunged into a morass of fear. His memoir of growing up in Stalinist Russia re-creates in vivid detail the daily trials of people trapped in this regime before and during the repressive years of World War II—and the equally horrific struggles of refugees after that conflict. Evicted from their home, their property confiscated, and eventually forced to leave their town, Anatole’s family experienced the fate of millions of Soviet citizens whose loved ones fell victim to Stalin’s purges. His mother, Raya, resorted to digging peat, stacking bricks, and even bootlegging to support herself and her two children. How she managed to hold her family together in a rapidly deteriorating society—and how young Anatole survived the horrors of marginalization and war—form a story more compelling than any novel. Looking back on those years from adulthood, Konstantin reflects on both his formal education under harsh conditions and his growing awareness of the contradictions between propaganda and reality. He tells of life in the small Ukrainian town of Khmelnik just before World War II and of how some of its citizens collaborated with the German occupation, lending new insight into the fate of Ukrainian Jews and Nazi corruption of local officials. And in recounting his experiences as a refugee, he offers a new look at everyday life in early postwar Poland and Germany, as well as one of the few firsthand accounts of life in postwar Displaced Persons camps. A Red Boyhood takes readers inside Stalinist Russia to experience the grim realities of repression—both under a Soviet regime and German occupation. A moving story of desperate people in desperate times, it brings to life the harsh realities of the twentieth century for young and old readers alike.

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