Chapter 7: The Two Valleys (unedited)

CHAPTER 7

The Two Valleys

Late in 1949, not long after her divorce from Curly, Austin's mom met a gentleman named Bernard Halterman.  Bernie hailed from Covington where he lived in his childhood home at 901 North Allegheny, just a few blocks from Curly and Juanita's Covington home.  Bernie’s parents, Forrest and Effie, raised four children.  The oldest, Forrest, Jr., served in the U.S. Air Force and is buried at the Arlington National Cemetery.  Everyone called him Lucky because he managed to survive a number of horrific World War II Pacific battles.  The other son, William, ran a trading company for a while and the daughter, Mildred, lived in Gettysburg before passing away.  

Bernie had also been married before and met Juanita at the mill where they both worked.  Although their engagement was short, their eventual marriage remained very strong and lasted over 61 years.  They passed away within a month of each other in 2017.  Now, that was a good marriage.  It was after they got married that Austin moved back to Covington.  Austin wanted me to know that he had been very fortunate to have three great male influences in my life.  The first was his Dad, then my Grandpa Manuel.  And, Bernie would become the last of the three.  He was and remained until his death a real good man.

By 1951, with limited employment opportunities in Covington, Bernie and Mom decided to move to Washington, D.C.  Austin stayed with his grandparents as Bernie and Juanita looked for work and a new home.  The city was in the throes of a robust post-war economic boom, and jobs were readily available.  Within a few weeks, they found work and Austin joined them in their modest new home 1231 Queen Street, N.E. 

"The culture shock never dissipated in my mind," observed Austin, "In Jonestown, every boy had a knife for whittling but in DC those knives were used to stab people. You know, before I moved to DC, I do not recall ever seeing a black person."  There were few minorities in the Potts Creek area, perhaps a few Latinos.  "My new DC neighborhood was integrated and so I learned another lesson on life.  My best friend in DC was a kid from our block named Fred.  He was black, but I found that didn’t matter much."  Austin and Fred had shared interests, primarily involving building a soap box car.  That car disintegrated during its first test run.  Other new friends included Tommy and Dicky Burns, and Butch Tuart. 

Life in the city did not suit him, however, and Austin was sent back to Jonestown in 1952.  It marked the start of a difficult period in his life.  Within a few months, Curly experienced the first of several debilitating nervous breakdowns.  "I always thought his exposure to chemicals at the mills were the reason."  Possibly so since worker safety wasn't very important then.  He was sent to a sanitarium in South Carolina, to be close to his remaining family members.  Houston Hines, one of his brothers, was his primary caretaker.  Eventually he returned to the Covington area, maybe in the late 1960s, living in Mallow.  He passed away in 1971 and was buried Lone Star Cemetery.

In 1953, Juanita was determined to have Austin back in DC.  "Fortunately, I had my friends Fred, Butch and the Burns brothers to help with the change," he noted.  Around 1955, Juanita and Bernie, flush with more income and tired of city living, moved across the Potomac River to nearby Arlington, Virginia.  As the crow flies, it was only a few miles, but to many of their DC neighbors, it was like moving cross-country.  “Why in the hell would you move so far away?” they would ask.

The new home was located at 3114 South Hayes Street, not far from Reagan National Airport, in a little enclave called Arlandria.  Just two years later, they moved to 2602 South Troy Street in the Arna Valley.  Located off South Glebe Road and just east of Shirley Memorial Highway, Arna Valley was the first large-scale rental project in Arlington designed to accommodate the many defense workers who flocked to the area during World War II.  It was still mostly a green neighborhood with plenty of trees and gardens.  Sometimes, when Austin had free time on weekends, he and his friends would pole a cement mixer - essentially a large metal rectangle approximately 4’ by 8’ - up Four Mile Run from the bridge at Arlington Ridge Road to Route 1 but never into the Potomac.  If we saw a rat swimming, we'd slug it with a bat for entertainment.  I suppose it was kind of like being a modern day Huckleberry Finn."

Right around his 12th birthday, Austin took on his first job as a paper carrier.  He started with the Washington Daily News before moving on to other local papers, including the Evening Star, Times Herald, and eventually the Washington Post.  "I am proud to proclaim that I was the first carrier to service the River House on Army-Navy Drive in Arlington," he exclaimed.  

One of their neighbors on South Troy Street was the perpetually henpecked Willie Wilburn.  He was a major elbow bender.  Willie worked for the now-defunct AB&W Bus Company, spending his off-hours tending to his garden near their house.  The ever resourceful Willie had bottles of whiskey buried in various parts of the garden including one that was tied to a tree and accessible only by a rope line he devised.  Although Willie’s drinking created some havoc in his life, especially with a wife who never cared for the whiskey, he cared for his garden and Austin remembers him harvesting some of the greatest tomatoes and other veggies there.  They formed an interesting friendship, and when Austin turned 15, he was legally allowed to drive.  Well, Willie thought it was a ticket to go get booze whenever he wanted.  It was Willie, not Mom or Bernie, who took Austin to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get a learner's permit.  "We drove down in his new 1956 Buick -- it was truly a boat of a car," Austin smiled, "I easily passed the test."  Willie had it made!  "He would come get me to chauffeur him around.  One of our almost daily ventures involved the gas station where Willie would charge twenty dollars to his credit card, use $10 for gas, and the other $10 for a bottle of booze," he explained.  Willie's credit card bills were so high that his wife would beat on him.  And, Mrs. Wilburn was no little woman.  

"The seventh grade was a turning point for me. I went from Oakridge Elementary to Brandon Junior High.  School was never my thing and I often lacked sufficient motivation.  My grades showed it.  I failed the 8th grade due to appendicitis which burst with complications, but it wouldn’t have really mattered anyway."  Sports might have provided that drive to study harder, but a broken collarbone suffered during a playground football game ended that dream.  "After stitches in my foot from stepping on broken glass, a broken collarbone, and other cuts and scrapes, I gave up the idea of becoming a football star.  I was asked many times why I did not play in high school and finally the truth is out," he laughed.

They lived near the Anderson Clinic and when the National Hospital for Orthopedics and Rehabilitation bought out the clinic, the nearby properties became quite valuable.  As a result, Willie Wilburn’s garden plot - and liquor store al fresco - was purchased by a developer.  “Someone had to have hit the jackpot when they excavated Willie's garden,” noted Austin, “what with all the hidden bottles since even Willie forgot where he planted all of them.  I’m sure he cried the day the bulldozer came in.”  Today, an apartment building stands on Willie’s former garden.  Also lost during construction was a large apple tree renowned for bearing excellent fruit.  A melancholy Austin remarked, “When property becomes valuable, they forget it has a history, and to hell with the apple trees.  Maybe we all cry a little when the past is bulldozed away.”  Perhaps but no one cried harder than Willie.