P'ville and Cecil's and Cecil Johnson are important memories to many of us who grew up there.

I visited Cecil just days before he died in the nursing home. Before visiting Cecil I stopped and talked with some of the nurses inquiring into Cecil's overall health and state of mind. I had not seen Cecil in several years at that point. The nurse told me that Cecil was "starving himself to death." They couldn't get him to eat or drink anything and he was refusing all attempts of trying to keep him alive.

So I visited Cecil in a dark and lonely room. It was in the evening hours around supper time. Upon entry into the room, Cecil asked who I was. I stood there in the darkened doorway and told him, "Paul". He immediately knew who "Paul" was and asked me to come in and close the door. Sitting in the dark beside Cecil's bed, we reminisced about the good times. Cecil was bright, alert, inquisitive, even talkative. I thanked him quietly there in the dark just for being Cecil. And, as I recall, he said in a quiet and reserved way "you're welcome, you're all welcome."

When I left the nursing home I went directly to Palmers Big Star and bought all the Campbell's soup I could. I spent every penny I had on me for lots and lots of soup. I carried it back to the nursing home and talked with the nurse again, telling her of Cecil's eccentric ways and his love of Campbell's soup. They immediately warmed up a bowl of soup for him and were delivering it to him as I turned to leave. Knowing Cecil, I doubt seriously that he ate any of it. Once Cecil set his mind to something, he was one of the most focused and single issue-minded persons I have ever known, and I knew that at that point he had one thing on his mind and that was leaving this world.

It seemed odd to me. It seemed inadequate of me. It seemed pointless, but important to me that I said a final "thank you" to Cecil for all he had done for me with a couple of grocery bags of Campbell's soup.

I attended Cecil's funeral and heard several wonderful tributes from more of Cecil's kids. People who came before me and people who came after me shared the same feelings of genuine gratitude for the kindness and life lessons taught to us by the bachelor we all called Cecil.

Some happy memories include...

Ken Mitchell and I were his favorites. No really, we were, we must have been. He never tired of teaching us how to play ball. Every day, and I mean every day, before the park opened, Cecil would be hitting us fly balls or pepper or playing catch with us. Cecil would have been in his mid-50's then, and he never hesitated to grab a ball and a bat and give Ken and me a workout. If you go to the back side of his garage today, you'll find those cypress boards dented and split from many, many hours of Cecil trying to teach me to control my fastball. Eventually, one morning he told me, "Paul, I can't catch you any more. Your fastball is just too quick for me, and you haven't learned a darn bit of control." That was Cecil to me. He did all he could. He took me as far as he could. He encouraged me to keep trying and told me that I had talent. When Cecil bragged on your fastball, brother, it meant something.

Hikes...that's right, just the joy of walking in the woods with Cecil. Cecil would take us into the woods and show us nature. Sometimes we'd walk as many as 10 miles or more. He'd make the trails and trees and grapevines and hollers interesting and historical. We'd look for arrow heads, cannon balls, Civil War relics. He'd teach us which berries we could eat and which ones we couldn't. If you got to go on one of Cecil's hikes, you were indeed one of a very small, special group. He taught Ken and me to shoot, to fish, to swim, to hunt, and to be conservationists. And, if you ever got to go on one of Cecil's night hikes, you were indeed one of the chosen few. Remember the carbide lights, the glow worms and lightning bugs, the treed possums and the very rare treed coon. Remember the survival skills he taught us--every thing from first aid for cuts or snake bites to finding your way back home in the dark out of a set of woods that you'd never seen before?

The Tennis Court...yes, we all loved the tennis court. Did you know that as very young boys, Ken and I actually worked side by side with Cecil hauling red clay from one of the embankments behind his pecan grove? I remember working with that shovel day after day, never complaining and never asking how long this was going to take. Shoot, Ken and I felt it an honor just to be included, and we got to ride on the side boards of that Model T. Yes, he still had it and he pulled a small trailer loaded with red clay dirt back and forth through the pecan grove, literally hundreds of times. I'm going to say that Ken and I were probably only 7 & 9 years old at the time. Don't you know we were lots of help? Our pay was a cold Pepsi and a "thank you" at the end of the day.

Parched pecans and rook...another, very special activity, reserved for only a few. On rainy days, a few times, Cecil would let a few of us come into his house and play Rook. He'd parch pecans and we'd laugh and enjoy such sweet and wonderful hours together.

Campouts and scaring the girls...Cecil used to let the boys camp out every now and then. He'd fashion us a tent from old canvas placards left over from his semi-pro baseball promoter days. Draped over a low hanging pecan limb, we'd spend the evening hours listening to owls and other scary noises in the dark. He'd even let us build a fire, but only under strict supervision and orders, which we always followed to the letter.

Occasionally, Cecil would let the girls camp out. No boys allowed, except he'd get Ken Mitchell, Rodney Rogers and me to come scare 'em. We had all kinds of elaborate and choreographed schemes. We'd spend hours before the girls got there just setting up noise makers and plans. Cecil would have us come at a designated time. He'd be telling a ghost story around the campfire, and on cue we'd chime in with our prescribed parts. Trouble was, after a few times the girls were no longer afraid and they'd chase us through the dark back to the boundaries of Cecil's pecan grove. Ever jumped a barbed wire fence in the dark with Susan Williams and Gloria Temple in hot pursuit? I have. Remember the Halloween walks. These were an extension of what we learned about running ropes and wires through the trees to hang ghosts and goblins on. Where else but in a simple time and place would the grown men in a small town take the time to set up elaborate Halloween displays, complete with flying witches, trolls, and all manner of scary creatures, just so a community of kids could be ushered around by Cecil after dark?

Finally, glow hot air ballons...don't ask me why or how, but somehow Cecil and I came up with the idea of sending hot air ballons up at night. I think this started out as a science fair project and when I showed it to Cecil, he became a "partner in crime". We'd take dry cleaning bags, the taller ones worked best, and fashion a frame work around the bottom out of fine copper wire. Under this we'd hang a small wire basket filled with cotton balls soaked in a mixture of rubbing alcohol and lighter fluid. We'd wait until a very calm night and from behind the pecan grove somewhere we'd light the cotton balls and set these things aloft. We put a lot of work into experimenting with various size bags and wire and fuel solutions. Cecil never lost his patience with me, and it is unbelieveable that night after night he and I would try another flight or two. On good flights we'd walk a long ways in the dark following that glowing hot air bag, calculating its distance and flight time.

I grew up early, I think. I left Plantersville, home and Cecil's at basically 17, but Cecil and Cecil's have never left me. I've often thought of writing a book about Cecil, about submitting his name and memory to some "hall of fame", or of erecting a living monument or exhibit to honor the man many of us grew up with.

Paul Johnson