REMEMBERING A KINDNESS

 REMEMBERING A KINDNESS


I write this while remembering the sensitivity of a family member.  It is not about the artifact, though, in itself it is a remarkable collector piece.  It measures 4 ⅝” by 3” at its widest point.  Made of hematite, it is as heavy as lead.  This ax head was a valued commodity and a real prize in its day.  It was heavily used by its owner, a right-handed individual, and served as an instrument of war, as well as a utilitarian function.

About 1954, for those who can recall the time, on the Poplar Bluff side of the Highway 67 bridge above Old Greenville in Wayne County, Missouri stood an old trading post.  The owner worked diligently collecting artifacts to sell, and on the sly, chipped arrowheads of his own to pass off to unwary tourists passing through.  His collection of the real stuff was impressive though.  Mother and Dad always stopped to let me look and on one occasion, allowed me to buy a couple of arrowheads.  The more expensive artifacts were beyond our means at the time.

After spending 15 or 20 minutes wishing and fantasizing on one trip when I was about 8 or 9 years old, we headed on to Grandma Wilson’s house to stay the weekend. 

While everyone else was catching up on current events, my Uncle Cecil Wilson walked into the front room, noticed my forlorn countenance, and sat down to see what was on my mind.  It only took a minute or two before I started talking about all the artifacts in the trading post.

He studied me for a minute or two, and said “c’mon, get in the car and let’s go have a look”.

I was excited to get more time with all the arrowheads and other relics and I’m sure I never shut up until the car parked in the gravel pull-off and I was once again dumbstruck with the bounty of pre-historic wealth.

I was incredulous when Uncle Cecil told me to “pick out something I liked”.  Not, wanting to take advantage of the generosity, I settled on a small inexpensive arrowhead and took it to the counter.

Uncle Cecil looked at my choice, and shook his head. He asked the man across from him, to show him some of his best ax heads.  I really liked the look and feel of a black, heavy instrument designed for brute force. The shop owner informed us this was one of many pieces he acquired from a local Wayne County collector. He gave the name, but of course it meant nothing to me. 

Uncle Cecil asked the man how much he wanted for it.  When the man said the least he could take was $15, my heart sank.  For the time, that was an enormous sum of money for a nephew’s infatuations.  A lot of money.

But, Uncle Cecil had a $20 bill in his pocket, and slid it across to the heavy-set man across from him.  And I had an artifact to admire far beyond anything I ever dreamed of possessing.



At one point in my early teens, a neighbor stole the hematite ax head, but I tracked it down and reclaimed it, daring the boy to try and stop me from doing so.

It has always had a prominent spot in my display case, and I have never once looked at it without thinking about Uncle Cecil and the kindness shown to me.  At our reunions I have had the occasion to bring the event up, and thank him again for the sensitivity shown to me.  And just as he did then, he brushed it off as nothing of significance.

But, as I hold the artifact and reflect on all this, I hope he knows how much this act of love meant to his skinny little nephew, and how much it still does today.  And the best way I know for others to know of his generosity, is to share the memory with family, and with all that have always felt a connection and fascination with those who roamed our country those many, many years ago. When we stoke a child's imagination, the sparks last a lifetime.

Uncle Cecil Wilson a few years before his death.




Copyright Keith W. Ragan, 2004





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