Mr. Ernest W. Smith, 76
Services for Mr. Ernest W. Smith, 76, of Denton, who died May 25 at his residence, were held May 27 in Wainwright-Parlor Funeral Home Chapel.
The Rev. Van McCall and Mr. Donnie Newman officiated with burial in Mt. Pleasant Baptist Church Cemetery.
Mr. Smith, born Jan. 22, 1943 in Jeff Davis County, was the son of the late William Hobson Smith and the late Kate Clements Smith. He was a retired self-employed truck driver and attended Macedonia Church of God. He was preceded in death by his brothers, Roy Smith and William “Corky” Smith.
Survivors include his wife of 57 years, Nancy Pittman Smith of Denton; sons, Ernest Wendell Smith Jr (Debbie) of Douglas and Timothy Bryant Smith of Denton; three grandchildren, Lynn Chaney Hayes of Douglas, Nikki Smith Huffaker (Brandon) of Denton, and Drew Smith of Hazlehurst; three great-grandchildren, Eli Hayes and Chloe Hayes of Douglas and Marley Huffaker of Denton, and nieces and nephews.
Active pallbearers were Johnny Faulk, Hal Faulk, Jim Miller, Bobby Miller, Dorsey Miller, David Barton, and James Emory Tate.
Honorary pallbearers were Teresa and Burch Wilcox, and all friends and neighbors in attendance.
Musical selections were rendered by Mrs. Angie McCall.
Wainwright-Parlor Funeral Home of Hazlehurst was in charge of arrangements.
Ernest and I were school mates. We attended Excelsior Elementary School through the eighth grade and then went to Jeff Davis High School for four years, graduating in 1961. Ernest was tall, had a deep voice, and a chuckle for a laugh. In the 1950s he wore a ducktail haircut. Once he and I ordered from a magazine two red windbreaker jackets that on their backs had a picture of a Ford Coupe and the words, Have Goodies Will Travel. He was part of the Smith Clan that included Hobson, Kate, Arnold, Herbert, Rexford, and Clarence. Roy and Corkey were his brothers. During school at Excelsior, we played a game we called the ball game. The game involved two evenly divided teams of boys, each with a baseball bat, and one softball between the two teams. The object was to hit the ball on the ground with your bat into the opposing team. The stock net wire fence that defined the front playground were the goals. The game was dangerous, and no equipment was worn. You would swing the bat and rush forward to hit it again right into the opposing team that was swinging at the ball to propel it to your rear. The team that was successful in knocking on the ground the ball all the way to the wire fence was declared the winner. Those I can remember who played this makeup game included Ernest Smith, Donnie Newman, Donald McCall, Joe Fowler, and others who drifted into and out of the activity from day to day.
My dad came to Georgia in 1938 and when he first came, he lived with the Smith family. He was treated fairly and helped grow and cure tobacco using the old wood fired furnaces back then. Along with the Smith boys such as Rexford, he would walk, often at night, to Snipe’s Store at the School House crossroads. Mr. Clarence Smith and Ruby introduced Daddy to Mama sometime that year and they were married in Orlando the next year in September of 1939. To travel around such as to a school event, sometime Daddy would borrow a horse named Jim and wagon from the Smith’s. Once when I was just a small child the family was attending an event at the school and Jim became spooked and ran away. He headed down the Broxton dirt road. Daddy finally gained control. It is funny how something like that can stick in a child’s mind for decades.
Ernest was a good buddy. Once I spent the night with him and remember that we had cornflakes and Rice Crispies for breakfast. We later went out to the cow lot and attempted to ride a young steer. We threw a rope around its neck and reangled with it for a while attempting to get it to calm down. After a while it seemed rideable, so Ernest said it was time to do it. We argued over who should go first. I lost the argument and finally attempted to mount the animal. The cow was not too happy about the whole matter and as soon as I climbed on it jumped a few times and I found myself on the ground. Then it was Ernest’s time. He was going to show me how he could ride that steer, and with some fan fair and a few bragging words, Ernest jumped on the creature, and it went running with Ernest bouncing up and down on its back. The steer headed to the barn door where a tall ladder was stationed upon the side. As the steer approached, it decided not to enter the barn but to run under the leaning ladder. As he ran under the ladder, the climbing instrument struck Ernest and dislodge him from the galloping bovine. We had a great time that day. Two buddies enjoying the day in each other’s company is always a day well spent.
Since my Daddy and Mr. Hobson Smith went back to 1938, they were friends and sometimes liked to go fishing on the Ocmulgee River. Once they took Ernest and me fishing with them. It was in the spring of the year and sometime in the early 1950s. Hobson had a new tent and a Wizard seven- and one-half horse outboard we used on a homemade cypress boat docked at Rock Hammock Landing. We planned to string trotlines and fish with poles. We ventured to a predetermined sandbar up stream and pitched camp there. After the tent was secured, we seined a nearby slough for bait. There we go plenty of bait and a Cottonmouth too. Then the men left Ernest and me while they strung the trotlines. We were left to fish along the banks of the rushing river. We soon tried our luck with our poles, but only caught eels. We finally got bored and returned to camp and threw rocks into the river. As the afternoon passed, the western sky started to darken and at a great distance one could hear thunder. Soon we were hoping that Daddy and Hobson would quickly arrive. They didn’t come anytime soon. As time passed the storm came nearer and nearer. We were scared and there was no sound of the Wizard that could
be heard. All that could be heard was lighting strikes and a ferocious storm approaching. As the storm reached us at the camp, we heard the faint buzzing of the outboard. We looked upriver and there we saw the men traveling at top speed to camp. Our hearts beat with some confidence. As the men slid into the camp, they motioned for us to quickly get into the boat. Ernest and I sat in the middle seat, Daddy in the front, and Hobson in the back controlling the motor. As we left, I wondered why we didn’t use the new tent. The lightning flashed and provided the only light to be seen. As we went down river to Rocky Hammock, we often bumped into the bank and brushed our heads on low hanging tree limbs. Ernest and I were both scared beyond death. I remember thinking, I don’t know how to swim. We finally made it, and today I still don’t care to be in a boat on the river at night. Ernest was my buddy, and we lived to talk about that event.
Another activity that involved Ernest, Donald, Donnie, and me was horseback riding. In those days you had to make you own fun. Country boys knew how to do that. Each of us had access to a mount. Ernest rode a brown mule; Donald had an old very large Belgum draft horse that was used in the lumber business. It had scares on it legs and had feet so large they appeared as foot tubs. I rode a horse named Nell. She had some age but was what we used to harvest tobacco. She pulled a sled just fine and was quite fast. I remember one night meeting the guys over near the Smith’s or Newman’s. When I arrived from my house about four miles away, the other guys were whooping it up at a makeshift camp site. There was a tent that all of were to sleep in already set up. A campfire was blazing, and the boys were telling jokes, laughing, and horsing around. The night came fast and when we were to turning-in for the night, there simply was not room for all who needed to sleep. The night was filled with boys complaining, pushing, and pulling trying to find a small space to recline. Most of the time I simply stood outside having given up on the competition. When daybreak came hardly anyone had gotten to sleep and everybody was reaching the point where home seemed like a better place to be. With out breakfast, I saddled old Nell and hung my 22 rifle over the saddle. The other guys were doing the same. As I rode away, I thought how that whole event had turned out a flop and it was supposed to be so much fun. Looking back on such events now makes me sad knowing that several of my friends of those long-ago days are no longer with us. I don’t forget that they are still with me in the sense of my memory and who could forget someone like Ernest, Donald, Donnie, Joe, J.L. etc. It would be great to call together the old boys of that day and saddle up once again and maybe ride over to Newman’s pond just to check and see if we could find that old redeye gator that once occupied the water hole. Maybe ride our mounts out into the water and get our feet wet and give the horses a cool down. Long live the memory of my friend Ernest Smith.
Jesse M. Bookhardt. Excelsior School 1949-1957, Jeff Davis High School, 1957-1961.