The Amazing Adventures of the Mill-Village Boy

By Ray H. Pettit

Ray Pettit has experienced amazing adventures. Check Point Charlie, Argentine Terrorists, Greenland Ice Cap, Earthquake Entrapment, Secret Service Agents, CIA/NSA/FBI, Pentagon Consultant; Movie/TV Acting, Hullabaloo Teen Club, GPS and Cell-phones Development, Patents for Satellite/Submerged Submarine Communications, Professor of Electrical Engineering for 40 years, Author of Classic Engineering Reference Book, “ECM and ECCM for Digital Communication Systems.” --- Amazing Adventures All!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665555944

Ray H. Pettit

Ray Pettit has experienced amazing adventures. Check Point Charlie, Argentine Terrorists, Greenland Ice Cap, Earthquake Entrapment, Secret Service Agents, CIA/NSA/FBI, Pentagon Consultant; Movie/TV Acting, Hullabaloo Teen Club, GPS and Cell-phones Development, Patents for Satellite/Submerged Submarine Communications, Professor of Electrical Engineering for 40 years, Author of Classic Engineering Reference Book, “ECM and ECCM for Digital Communication Systems.” --- Amazing Adventures All!

Book preview

THE AMAZING

ADVENTURES OF THE

MILL-VILLAGE BOY

RAY H. PETTIT

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AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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© 2022 Ray H. Pettit. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  03/28/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5595-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5593-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5594-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022905631

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

1. HARD TIMES BUT GOOD TIMES

2. CHILDHOOD INNOCENCE, PEACEFUL EARLY SCHOOLDAYS

3. LIVES CHANGED FOREVER - WAR YEARS IN VIRGINIA, 1942-1944

4. A VISION OF THE FUTURE, 1944-1946

5. HIGH SCHOOL GLORY DAYS

6. DROWNPROOFING, 101

7. A BABE IN INDUSTRY

8. SOLDIER BOY

9. RETURN TO INDUSTRY

10. RAMBLIN’ WRECK FROM GEORGIA TECH

11. STRESSFUL STUDIES

12. BACK TO HIGH-TECH

13. THE PERFECT JOB

14. HULLABALOO

15. THE GAZEBO AND SUMMER VACATION

16. THE PIVOTAL MONTHS

17. TETRA

18. OPERATION NORTH STAR

19. PENTAGON CONSULTANT

20. A RESTLESS FINALE

21. MISTER SHORT-COURSE, USA

22. MY MOMENTS OF INTRIGUE

23. THE WORLD’S WORST JOB

24. RAY GOES HOLLYWOOD

25. EARTHQUAKE!

26. TECHNOLOGICAL RE-BIRTH

27. HAWAIIAN PARADISE

28. LONGFELLOW I AIN’T

29. SUE GATRELL HART

30. MARTHA FAITH

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my three sons Jonathan, Theodore and Kendall. From the days of their births to the day of my passing, my love for them can have no bounds.

1. HARD TIMES BUT GOOD TIMES

Many would probably say that May 12, 1933 was a terrible time to be a newborn in the United States. The spirit-breaking conditions of the Great Depression ravaged the nation. Unemployment reached 25% of the workforce. Bankruptcies were commonplace. Farmers were devastated by droughts and failed crops. Caravans of broken people, with all of their worldly possessions loaded onboard their cars or trucks, streamed across America to California --- the Promised Land (which became a nightmare for most). Poverty prevailed everywhere no unemployment benefits, no free medical care, no food stamps, no free housing --- and, yes, no free cell phones or stimulus checks either.

The crash of the stock market had destroyed many on-paper fortunes, leaving little incentive for investing in new ventures and the creation of new jobs. The economy was worse than stagnant --- it was near death. There were those who blamed capitalism --- it was not free enterprise that caused the collapse but rather the government’s monetary policies which brought on the catastrophe. Once President Roosevelt took us off the Gold Standard, the printing of paper money had nothing to constrain it --- hence ultimately runaway inflation for the future.

But, having parents who were inherently optimistic about the future and who loved the idea of having their own children, I luckily was able to begin a life’s journey.

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THE LAST HOUSE ON E-STREET

The Birthplace of Ray Pettit

I saw my first light, had my first meal, and received my first hugs and kisses in the last house on E-Street, in the cotton mill village called North Canton

The house of my birth accommodated two families, each side having a living room at the front, a bedroom in the middle, and the kitchen in the rear. An indoor toilet was just off the kitchen but required going outside to reach it. Most farm houses in the area were not as well equipped, having only outdoor facilities. There was no shower, no bathtub. For baths, water was boiled on top of the wood-burning stove, then mixed with enough cold water in a circular, body-sized galvanized wash tub for soaping and soaking ourselves. Saturday was the day and it was a day I looked forward to...my weekly day to play in the pool. Sponge baths sufficed the other days of the week.

All of the streets in the village were named as letters of the alphabet. Our house was at the end of E-Street, right at the edge of a forest of pines and hardwoods. Mothers delivered their babies at home, assisted by female relatives or midwives. With no telephones generally available, the doctor had to be summoned by someone who would drive to the doctor’s office or residence.

My birth, on May 12, 1933, followed a difficult period of labor for my mother, Martha Clark Pettit, 20 years old, 4 feet -10 inches tall. I weighed over nine pounds.

No baby was ever wanted more and loved more. I was the first grandchild of my maternal grandmother, Odell Clark. My grandfather, Mack, said by my mother to have been a wonderfully loving and protective father, had died several years earlier, leaving three daughters and three sons to be raised...and very little money. There was no help available from outside, but families took care of their own when in need. A generous and loving uncle took my mother and her family into his household, and provided sustenance until my mother and her oldest sister could get jobs in the mill, with an accompanying house in the village (rent $5 per month). Mom was 13 years old, finished with formal education after seventh grade.

When I was born a few years later, my two aunts and the three uncles from my Mom’s side of the family thought I was the greatest thing since pinto beans and cornbread! They took turns holding me, playing with me, kissing me, hugging me...protecting me, teaching me. And so did my Dad’s brothers and sisters.

My Daddy, Hubert Pettit, was the second of eight children born to Whit and Maude Pettit. I was their second grandchild, so there wasn’t quite the novelty factor as with my Clark relatives. My paternal grandfather was one of the supervisors at the mill, typically called bosses, and therefore his family was relatively affluent compared to the Clarks. They lived in a larger house in the village, with some rooms wall-papered and with a bathroom just off a hallway. Even so, my Dad also began work at the mill at end of eight grades of schooling, this being customary in those days. Only a small percentage completed high school then, and only a tiny fraction of those finished four years of college.

With all of the attention I received, it’s not surprising that I was what was called a colicky baby... I cried a lot! My loving folks apparently couldn’t leave me alone enough for me to rest and sleep. Once, at Dad’s parents for a visit, Ma Pettit mistakenly and innocently said, as I was bawling at the top of my lungs, that maybe Daddy should give me a little spank to try to get my attention. Daddy became very angry with his mother, saying something to the effect that no one could ever tell him to spank his baby. So he and Mother took me home immediately. My parents thought I was perfect and could do no wrong, and therefore there was no reason to punish me. Until my father’s death at the age of 89 and my mother’s passing at age 95, I was the perfect son. Neither one of them ever laid hands on me or my sister in anger. We were given only love. Over the first few years of my life, we lived in several different village houses. My Dad seemed to always be looking for a better place for us. And he, and mother, too, took great pride in wherever we lived. He regularly painted, inside and outside, and she kept the house spotlessly clean. In fact, most people in the village took pride in their houses. There were few grassy lawns, but the women used straw brooms to sweep the rocks and sticks from the dirt yards.

The village was a major part of Canton. The mill was the idea of the wonderful industrialist Mr. R.T. Jones, who provided jobs --- food, shelter, education, medical care, entertainment, etc. for thousands of his employees over the years.

Working conditions were harsh in the mill but similar to those elsewhere at the time. The hours were long and off-days were one-half of Saturday and all day Sunday (when most folks went to church or perhaps to a picnic down on the Etowah River --- or occasionally to see the Atlanta Crackers play a baseball game in Ponce de Leon park forty miles away in Atlanta). Wages were about 20 cents per hour. But no one complained. Everybody was thrilled to have a job --- especially in the mill. Those jobs were valued highly, I often heard the story of how certain people went to the mill every day for years, asking about any job openings. Being told repeatedly that there was no hiring for the day never discouraged a return the next day to ask again.

A huge benefit for working there was the mill village. Mr. Jones had the houses built for use only by his workers. It was truly a great place to grow up, we had loving, friendly neighbors everywhere. It was one, big, happy and supportive family. Everyone knew everyone else. Children could freely roam all around without concerns for safety. We had a large department store (Jones Mercantile) in Canton as well as another in North Canton. Purchases could be bought on credit with payments automatically deducted from the next paycheck.

Mr. Jones had built a modern (for the times) hospital and made sure it was staffed with excellent doctors and nurses. He provided a nice church in the village for residents, almost all of whom were Baptist. (The city Baptists and the Methodists had fancier churches in Canton.) His family built what is perhaps the finest and historically most relevant 9-hole golf course in the country. No doubt this came about because Mr. R.T. Jones was the uncle of the great golfer Bobby Jones, who won all four major golf championships in the same year --- the famous Grand Slam. He also founded the Masters’ Golf Tournament at Augusta, Georgia. No doubt it is the most famous, most prestigious, and the most beautiful one in the world. My Dad, with his older brother and others in the Pettit family, played many rounds of golf there -- their all-time favorite course. As a teenager, he was caddy one time for the great Bobby Jones, who often played there when in town visiting his uncle. Even though Canton is now a very large suburb of Atlanta, and has many excellent new 18-hole courses and golf communities, older folks will always remember best the beautiful course on the river of Canton Golf Club.

Perhaps the greatest thing that Mr. Jones and his family did for the folks in Cherokee County had to do with their providing for an excellent school system. Only quality teachers were hired (many of whom worked there for decades). The schools were well-equipped for all teaching needs. (Except, of course, there were no cafeterias. Students brought lunches in their lunch boxes, which was the norm then and for many years thereafter.) Canton High School had its own gymnasium, very rare for schools in Georgia except for the large ones in Atlanta, Macon, and other cities. This was a distinct advantage over most of the schools whose teams were the opponents in basketball. For many years, CHS (Canton High School) was a powerhouse in Georgia’s basketball world. Several state championships were won, first for boys’ basketball but then later for girls’ basketball as well. The players were all treated as special people, not unlike today’s hero worship of athletes in all sports.

Now, some would say that Mr. Jones did all of those beneficial things with selfish motives. His children and grandchildren (there were many in his large family) all went to the same schools that we did, they loved golf just as my Dad did, they needed the goods supplied by the stores we bought from, they wanted good medical care for their family members as did we. Almost all of the world’s great benefits resulted from at least some selfish motivation. I say, SO WHAT! It only matters that we have benefited so much from others --- the ones with the drive, the ideas, the brains, the determination, --- and, yes, many were selfishly motivated.

I remember a few isolated incidents during those pre-school years. The side entrance to Jones Mercantile downtown involved climbing perhaps a dozen marble steps to the door. Marble was pervasive in Canton because Georgia Marble Company and its marble quarries were just a few miles north of Canton. Beautiful Georgia marble is in locations throughout the world, being dominant in so many of Washington, D.C.’s monuments and buildings. It naturally was a common construction material in all of the nearby communities. So as we started to climb down the stairs as we exited the store, I slipped on the wet marble and fell all the way down to the sidewalk below. I think it likely that I was about four years old. The result from the fall to the bottom was an egg-sized bump right in the middle of my forehead --- and lots of crying by me! Now, in today’s world, that would have generated a large lawsuit against Mr. Jones --- but my folks looked at the accident in a different way. The thought of suing Mr. Jones for my fall never crossed their minds. They couldn’t sue the man to whom they owed so much, and, besides, it wasn’t his fault that I had pulled loose from Daddy’s grasp to rush down the steps. I, fortunately, suffered no permanent damage, and the hematoma soon was gone.

Another sad memory, but having a happy outcome, concerns Christmas when I was about the same age as the accident described above. The tradition was for the members of North Canton Baptist Church to have a meeting in the church right before Christmas Day in order to exchange gifts. To make sure, theoretically, that everyone received a gift, there was a procedure in advance which provided for a drawing of names. Each person had the name of another for whom a gift was to be bought, made, or cooked, and brought to the church for the annual gifting. That day, as the names were called and gifts distributed, my excitement that I was soon to have a new toy began turning to higher - and - higher levels of apprehension as my name was never called! To a child that was devastating. I began to cry, softly, but soon some adults realized what had happened and they fixed the situation immediately. From out of the blue, a toy pistol miraculously appeared and I was told that the toy was mine and had simply been misplaced. What a wonderful white lie. I was happy getting my favorite toy -- a cap pistol!

I have an uncountable number of great memories involving my first cousin Ronald Clark Adams, but one from that era comes to mind. He was Ronald for those early years but he was called Clark after he became older. His mother was my Mom’s younger sister Obie, a wonderful woman with a fantastic sense of humor and amazing wisdom and patience. And her sweet-potato pie was out of this world! Ronald’s father was Bonnie Adams, a large red-headed man from Scottish ancestry. He and my Dad were best of friends, particularly enjoying going quail hunting together. Dad had a champion-quality pointer birddog named Lady who was a joy to watch as she slowly tracked a covey of quail. The birds were kept until there were enough for a quail dinner for the Adams and Pettit families. Quail, gravy, mashed potatoes, and big-ole-biscuits. Sounds great, and a delicacy for many. I hated eating quail! I never liked the wild taste of quail, rabbit, deer, elk, buffalo, etc. Give me a good steak or hamburger instead! Or a plate of pinto beans and a big slice of warm cornbread.

But, back to the incident with Ronald. He was born on February 12, 1934, significantly exactly nine months from my birth. Apparently, when his parents saw the beautiful and chubby baby from Martha Pettit, they decided that they wanted a baby like me! Being the second of Mammy Clark’s grandchildren, he also had the same love, attention, and adulation that I had. We were inseparable from that moment forward --- sometimes physically apart because of jobs or other commitments but always connected spiritually.

When we were 4 or 5 years old, we were at Mammy’s house for each week’s workdays while our mothers worked at the mill. There was a large water tank beside the house, perhaps 100 feet or so high above the ground. One day Ronald told me that we should climb the tank’s ladder to the top. Ronald was a leader and I was very passive in those days. So I went along with the idea. He always was a bit of a rebel (I loved him for that) but I always respected authority. I would never do or say anything disrespectful of my parents, teachers, the elderly, or anyone else. I felt so much universal love that I couldn’t possibly be negative toward people I cared for. (Later, as a young adult, following lots of street-learning about the ways of most of the world, my philosophy of life changed considerably. But only for certain non-family members.) We were about half-way up the tank, Ronald leading the way, when Mammy (called that because what I called her when I was learning to talk sounded somewhat like Mammy) suddenly appeared below us. She ordered us to get down from there immediately or I’m going to give you a whipping. Ronald, a wise two-year old, said, Don’t worry, Ray. She would never hurt us. And, of course, she certainly would not. But we came down to the ground anyway. Ronald, later Clark, was a brother to me. We never had any cross words, never even disagreed. He died at age 87. I miss him so much.

Another wonderful memory concerns the very cold nights we had quite often in the houses of the mill-village. They were built on brick pillars, above the ground a foot or two. Freezing winds would often blow underneath. The houses had no real insulation. Heating only came from a single coal-burning fireplace and a wood-burning stove in the kitchen. The result was that the bed sheets were often ice-cold and would take a long time for body heat to warm up the bed. My loving, wonderful Daddy would hold a quilt in front of the fireplace until it was toasty warm, then quickly wrap me in that quilt for placing under the bed’s covers. Just another example of the love my Dad felt for me.

Boll weevils, drought, crop failures, evictions, low wages, no jobs ---- On top of those problems came deadly and devastating tornadoes. On April 5, 6 of 1936 a stream of twelve tornadoes hit a region in the southeastern part of the country. The number of people killed was 454, with 2498 injuries. The worst one hit Tupelo, Mississippi on April 5th, killing over 200 people. It is ranked as the 4th worst tornado in U.S. History. It is the 5th worst that I have a connection to. It hit Gainesville, Georgia early in the morning and killed at least 203 people. The town’s population then was about 3000 I believe, so when considering that today, with about 50,000 people, the death toll could be perhaps near 3 or 4 thousand if a comparable tornado hit now. Hardly a good example for Climate Change proponents to use to support their claims. The property damage was $13 million (in 1937 dollars), which is well over $200 million in today’s inflated currency. It is hard to comprehend the level of destruction if today’s much more developed Gainesville was subjected to the same tornado.

As word spread about the terrible tragedy, naturally curious people made plans to go to Gainesville for a first-hand view. Canton was comparable in size and importance to Gainesville. Both are county seats and they are about 30 miles apart. It probably was on the first Sunday following the disaster that we undertook the trek in our Model-A Ford. Images of the total devastation are still with me, even though I was still one-month shy of being three years old.

Until after WWII when it became feasible once again to get a new car, my Dad had owned two or three Model-A Fords. This line of cars represented Henry Ford’s second great highly successful series. From 1927-1931 many were sold. Earlier, Ford’s Model-T had been a big seller for 18 years. The Model-A was a 40-horsepower car with a maximum speed of about 65 miles per hour. It had one particular feature that seems today to be weird. It came with a hand-crank which could be inserted into an opening at the car’s front and then used to start a car having a dead battery. I saw my Dad do that once. It took a lot of muscle-power and many turns of the crank before the car’s motor started. It was a $400 Model-A that was our car until 1945. (I see online that Model-A cars can today bring many thousands of