title

I don't really consider this a short story. It's just a something I remember from growing up. I think it belongs here instead of Short Story Sharing.

Cutie Biggers lived across the street from us with his Mother, two grown sisters, two nieces and his nephew. I remember Cutie as being about 40 years old. As far as I know, he had never been married. He and Mrs. Biggers would come to our house every Saturday afternoon and watch wrestling out of Memphis and wash their clothes. They had no tv nor did they have a washing machine. They would watch Billy Hicks and Sputnick Monroe wrestle it out in the ring while the clothes were agitating. Then Cutie would carry the heavy loads of wet clothes across the street so his sisters could hang them on the line to dry. The Biggers kids, who were about my age, would play with me and my brothers.

Through the week Cutie worked in the cotton fields just like everyone else. This was before most cotton farmers had mechancial cotton pickers so folks were hired to pick the cotton by hand. If you’ve never picked cotton, it’s a very hard job. You go out in the fall mornings before the sun warms things up, then you pick bent over all day until the sun goes down. A good cotton picker could average 100 lbs. of light fluffy cotton a day. The middle part of the days in the delta, even in the fall, are pretty hot. Cutie’s work attire was a long sleeved thermal underwear shirt, a pair of Big Smith overall, boots, and a long sleeved shirt over it all. That way he could remove the over shirt when it got hot. Now Cutie didn’t like to pick cotton. He especially didn’t like to stand bent over all day. So instead of bending, he crawled through the fields, picking the cotton and dragging his cotton sack behind him. Crawling through a cotton field can be hazardous. They are notorious for being full of snakes, spiders, and debris from broken plows and disks. One had to be pretty careful when playing hide and seek or picking cotton on ones knees. Cutie wasn’t careful enough.

One Saturday my Mother noticed Cutie limping a little and asked him what was wrong with his foot. He said, “Nothing. Maybe it went to sleep.” Mom had seven kids to look after so she wasn’t too worried about Cutie’s foot going to sleep. The next Saturday Cutie
was again at the house watching wrestling and carrying loads of wet clothes across the street when my Mom again noticed he was limping, only this time it was a little worse. She talked to Mrs. Biggers about it and they decided that it was time for Cutie to pull up the leg of his Big Smiths and take his boot off so they could have a look at the leg. Well, Cutie had a fit. He didn’t want any women looking at his leg, it just wasn’t the proper thing to do. But his Mother prevailed and Cutie sat on the porch and allowed the women to pull his pant leg up. My Mother couldn’t believe her eyes.

What my Mother saw was something she never stopped talking about when anyone got a minor cut or scrap. The leg had a gash on the shin from the ankle to just below the knee. Inside the gash there must have been a million living maggots squirming. After much gagging and discussion the women decide that the leg had to be cleaned and wrapped. Bleach was the favorite cleaning agent in our house so my Mother made a solution of a cup of bleach to a gallon of warm water. After getting the water hose and hosing the maggots out of the gash, they washed the leg with the bleach water, poured it full of alcohol, and wrapped it up. Cutie had instructions to make sure he cleaned the leg everyday and wrap it up before going to the field.

About a week later, Mrs. Biggers had her grandson come across the street and get my Mother. Cutie was running a fever and his leg was swollen up pretty bad. So my Mother went across the street dreading what she might find. Cutie was very sick. The leg was clean except for the infection that had grown in the cut. When my Mom saw how sick Cutie was, she had Mrs. Biggers send for Doc Harper. As soon as the Doc saw the leg, he knew it had to come off. Doc Harper loaded Cutie into his car and took him to the little clinic he had over his office. There the good Doctor removed Cutie’s leg.

Of course, antibiotics would have helped if they had been given or applied after the maggots were washed away. Back then, no one went to the doctor with just a cut unless it was pretty deep or the bleeding couldn’t be stopped. Even with such cuts, the whole neighborhood knew that my Granny had trained to be a nurse back at the turn of the century and could sew up just about anything with a needle and tread. Alcohol, iodine, Mercurochrome, Vicks Vapor Rub, and aspirin were about all anyone used to take care of just about any injury or wound. There were no triple antibiotic ointments you could pick up at Wal-Mart. There weren’t any Wal-Marts! With nothing to keep it from growing, the infection turned into gangrene and Cutie lost his leg.

After his leg was cut off, Cutie didn’t pick much cotton. He got around with the aid of a crutch. Mostly he sat on the porch and waited for Saturday so he could hobble across the street and watch wrestling while his Mother did the laundry and his sisters carried the heavy loads of wet clothes back across the street and hung them out to dry.