Frogmore, South Carolina cant even be found on the map but I remember my father telling me all about it when he, his brothers and sisters and his nephew came down here to attend my Uncle Georges funeral. About 45 years ago, my fathers youngest brother, George, had married a lady named Evelyn Williams from Frogmore. I remember him beaming when he brought her to Bermuda to meet our family. She seemed quite shy but we all welcomed her with open arms. After they returned to Frogmore, we heard that Uncle George and Aunt Evelyn were expecting their first child; however, just days after the baby boy was born, he died. I remember my Aunt Olive showing me a picture of the baby and how sad a time it was for all of us. Uncle George was a prankster. He was always doing something crazy to make us laugh. He was also a master water skier and could do flips, ski on circular boards and even ski on his bare feet. We all were in awe of Uncle George! Im not sure how old I was when the news came from Frogmore, but I remember the tears running down my fathers face as he told us that Uncle George was dead. He had been killed by a single gunshot. It was Aunt Evelyns brother who had killed him. Her brother had just come back from the Vietnam war and was suffering from what we would now call Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. He and Uncle George always hung out together and were the best of friends. One day, the brother was cleaning his pistol and Uncle George came in the room and was joking around with him as he usually did. The brother said something like, Youd better leave me alone or Ill shoot you. Uncle George knew his best friend wasnt serious and said, Go ahead then. Shoot me. It was that instant. The brother-in-law had snapped and was later taken to a mental institution. Aunt Evelyn had lost a son and a husband. Three years ago, Lance and I came to the tiny community of Frogmore to see if we could find Uncle Georges grave or Aunt Evelyn since the family had lost touch with her. The area was just as my father had described it to me. One of the first people we met was Mrs. Jery Bennett Taylor, a master basket-weaver of sweet grass and bulrush. We had a great time with her and even bought some of her beautiful basketry. Jery wasnt able to help us but she told us where we could go and ask. We then drove further into the countryside and saw some men sitting in a yard under a tree. They sent us to Mr. Parker, who owned a little store up the street. When we got there, Mr. Parker, a true gentleman, was standing outside his store. Unfortunately, I didnt know Evelyns maiden name and Mr. Parker didnt recall the incident. Yesterday we came back to Frogmore and stopped at the Barefoot Farm fruit and vegetable stand where I bought bull grapes and Lance met three men from Charlotte, North Carolina who had been to Bermuda. The owner of the stand tried to help us locate Aunt Evelyns family but to no avail. We then went to see Jery again at her spot on the porch of the Gullah Grub Restaurant. After a long chat, we left then went to see Mr. Parker who looks exactly the same. We sat in his little store for a good part of the afternoon. He suggested we go to the local library to see if they could help us. So, we are on our quest to see if we can find Uncle Georges grave or Aunt Evelyn.
Posted on: Tue, 12 Aug 2014 17:20:33 +0000
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