Crossroads By L isa Weiss

By l isa Weiss Every family has its secrets. Sometimes they’re taken to the grave or held close to the heart for safekeeping. And sometimes, as was the case for my family, the secret — Granddaddy landing in the gas chamber at Central Prison — made an indelible mark on the soul of a skinny 8-year-old boy who would later become my daddy.

Granddaddy Pa lmer was a so - ca lled tobacco far mer f rom Nor th Carolina, a lthough he had never plowed a field that Daddy could remember. Instead, he let his son (my daddy) r ide shotg un in the old Ford pick up while he delivered homemade whiskey to the loca ls. Pa lmer and his uncle by mar r iage, George A llen, were t wo of the biggest bootleggers in the count y, and the t wo of them fought for bragg ing r ights to the Big Swamp distiller y business. Uncle George ow ned the 15 -by-15 -foot store at the intersection of Seventh Street and Singletar y Church Road in Robeson Count y, so he had a nat ura l distr ibution point for his product. But Pa lmer had the most pr ized asset: a reliable and abundant supply of sugar. In fact, he had 3,30 0 pounds of it in the back woods of the Big Swamp, which ensured a constant flow of his moonshine mash.

Sugar dur ing this time was rationed due to the war. Pa lmer’s secret stash, which in his mind was his patent, a lways kept him one step a head of Uncle George. W hen he ref used again and again to revea l his sugar source, Uncle George’s g reed got the bet ter of him, and he snitched to the loca l sher if f, spilling the location of Pa lmer’s stills. Nat ura lly, fester ing contempt came stomping out of the backwoods. A nd w ith a loaded shotg un.

Wa lk ing a mile to Uncle George’s house that mor ning did not tamp Pa lmer’s temper, but rather gave r ise to it. W hen he stor med into Uncle George’s house, George leapt f rom the break fast table and fled out back, screaming for his w ife to get his g un. Not intending to k ill anyone — a lthough he surely wanted to make his point — Pa lmer fired severa l shots bet ween the siding of the bar n where Uncle George went to hide.

Daddy and his siblings had scat tered that mor ning when they w itnessed their ow n father’s rage and their mother’s pleading. Crouched low and star ing bug- eyed at the edge of the cot ton field where a split in the path led either to the swamp or Uncle George’s, they waited. It did not take long. T he sound of g unshots, paired w ith the f renzied resolve on Pa lmer’s face when he ret ur ned, kept them as silent as Uncle George’s bar n.

Pa lmer r ummaged through the house w ith a burlap sack as he prepared his getaway into the Big Swamp. He ca lled for Blackeye, the family bulldog, who had a black r ing the size of a hickor y nut around his lef t eye, mark ing his reputation as a fighter. Pa lmer had paid $5 for him as a pup but when someone later of fered $10 0 for him, he didn’t consider it. He loved that dog.

A nd so, w ith his dog, a quilt, a cast-iron sk illet and a 5 -ga llon demijohn of moonshine, Pa lmer set out into the dark swamp to r ide out the manhunt. A s the minutes t ur ned to hours, and then days, a sense of self-satisfaction and pr ide g rew. Man and dog sur v ived the elements. But while the moonshine soothed Pa lmer’s soul, Blackeye g rew wear y. O ver the years, that dog had fought of f rowdy strays, snarled at dr unk ards — would have done any thing to protect his master. But Blackeye did not g rowl, budge or even nudge Pa lmer as si x men in unifor m approached them through the dark muck. Like most things in a swamp, the dregs r ise up or their stench g ives them away. T he dog sighed. Granddaddy went to jail.

Uncle George had been car ted of f to the hospita l in the back of a pick up tr uck. Gunshot wounds to the shoulder, leg and lower abdo men complicated by pneumonia sea led his fate. Follow ing a t wo - day tr ia l, Grandaddy Pa lmer was charged w ith first- deg ree murder and sentenced to the gas chamber. Some folk s tasted sweet revenge, while others puckered f rom the sour ness of it a ll.

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W hen facing cer tain death, some men become remorsef ul and discover a sense of pur pose. Dur ing the eight months it took Palmer to walk the g reen mile, he lear ned a little French, sought out the forg iveness of God and his family, and wrote letters . . . lots of letters. His conversion stor y was covered widely by the local and reg ional press. His letters were published and used in ser mons across Nor th Carolina and Virg inia. He was fighting for his soul while his law yer fought for his life. Despite his remorse, including a petition sig ned by all but t wo of the jurors, he was denied an appeal by the State Supreme Cour t. Daddy used to say, “I don’t think he hated to die as much as he hated to see what he had caused.”

On Feb. 19, 1943, a far mer t ur ned bootlegger wa lked into the gas chamber at 10:01 a.m. in R a leigh, Nor th Carolina. He smiled and nodded to the sher if f. His ar ms and legs were strapped to the wooden chair w ith a high back, a brow n leather mask adjusted over his face. A ny hopes and dreams were sea led in the air tight chamber.

I can’t say they thr ived, but a ll si x of his children sur v ived to tell — or not — their ow n stor ies of Pa lmer. T he trag ic ta le be came family lore. Creased, wor n let ters and press clippings f rom this bor n-again inmate passed dow n f rom generation to generation. Stor ies and memor ies of Pa lmer fell into the crev ices of time, aged and somewhat forgot ten; yet, they had the power to expose a g naw ing urge to seek out “the unar med tr uth and unconditiona l love”* desperately craved by a family, and par ticularly, by a fatherless 8 -year- old boy, tender and sweet, despite the lack of sugar in his life. PS

*From Dr. Mar tin L uther K ing Jr.’s 1964 Nobel Pr ize acceptance speech

A Nor th Carolin a n at ive, Lisa Weiss is an int er ior d e sig n er an d ar t ist. Sh e an d h er hu sban d, Ri ch ard, live in th e Ch arl ot t e are a. Ch arl e s Me are s, h er fath er, ser ve d 41 y e ars in th e Nor th Carolin a Depar tm ent of Cor rect ion s an d wa s super int en d ent of th e Ga st on Cor rect ion al Cent er. He wa s tw i ce th e recipi ent of th e O rd er of th e L ong L e af P in e, g rant e d b y th e of fi ce of Go v. Jim Hunt an d again b y th e of fi ce of Go v. Jam e s Holsh ou ser.