60 years ago, a man was born into this world. He has known me, loved me, and cared for me
longer than any other man living. He is
the closest biological relative that I have.
We shared a room for the first years of our lives. He taught me many things – how to defend myself,
how to skin a squirrel and clean a fish, that green garden snakes won’t bite –
hard, and that The Man From Uncle was the coolest show ever produced. He let me know if he thought I was being too
cliquey, was wearing too much make-up, or had stayed out too late the night
before. He has been my champion, double
dated with me, and taken care of my car breakdowns. There is so much more, but I should tell you,
if you haven’t guessed – he is my brother, Curtis C. Martin.
All of my greatest memories include him. Though I don’t remember it, he has been my
protector from the beginning. Mom tells
of a time when she was outside taking the laundry off of the clothesline and
she had left me asleep in the middle of the big high bed. Apparently I awakened and began to cry. Two year old Curt didn’t like that one
bit. His plan to take me to Mom by
pulling me off the bed by my legs was foiled at the last moment when Mom
entered the room. He was a great
adventurer. There was no lack of
excitement in our little house as children.
One of my earliest memories was that of the great tadpole debacle. Our mother has always kept a ship-shape
house. We lived in a small home with
hardwood floors throughout. She polished
those floors until you could see your reflection in them. Curt loved anything and everything that
creepeths upon the earth. He had gone
down to the local ditch and caught himself the most delightful gallon jar full
of little tadpoles. The jar was
literally black with them. Being a
little guy and not quite as strong as perhaps he believed himself to be, he had
brought them in to his room, perhaps to keep them as pets, and thus – the
debacle. That jar slipped right out of
his hands and hit those beautiful hardwood floors, bursting into little glass pieces
with black tadpoles dancing around as though they were in a ballroom. Mom ran to see the commotion and found little
Curt in the middle of all that water and glass, crying and picking up his
precious tadpoles. She couldn’t be mad.
Curt is two years my senior and I missed all of the first
year fun that was had by his coming. He
was the third child and the only boy. He
was pretty important, I imagine. He was
considered pure perfection by everyone who was waiting on the only hope for
saving Benjamin Franklin Martin’s name and passing it along to another
generation. Mom saved the day by
insisting he be named for his dad, and Curtis Clifton Martin stuck. He was born with a hemangioma, over his
eye. At that time, doctors insisted upon
draining them and so a series of shots into the mass of blood vessels was
undertaken. It wasn’t long until another
problem was discovered. Curt had a tumor
entangled with his salivary gland that was growing and had to be removed. This was a trickier problem. There was no micro or laser surgery in those
days and there were many nerves involved that would be in danger of being
nicked or cut. The risky surgery did,
indeed, produce a difficult outcome. A
nerve had been clipped which would leave half of this little boy’s face
paralyzed for life. It was most
noticeable by the slack of his mouth when he cried or smiled, leaving it
crooked. He also was unable to
completely close the eyelid on that side of his face. Now let’s get back to me. Because I came two years after, I never did
really know anything else. His face was
very normal to me. It wasn’t until a
neighbor boy mocked him that I even knew there was something different. These traits are some of the things that make
him a local town “character”, as he likes to call himself today.
Curt went to school – without me! He was in our Aunt Bessie’s first grade
class. His room was in a very old school
house building (I think in the basement).
Mom and I would drive to school and pick him up every day. I loved his school friends. One day some of them came over to our
house. I must have been a little older
then, because Mom wasn’t home for a little while. I had a sugar egg with a scene inside that
Aunt Bessie had given me after Easter (probably a gift from one of her
students). I was showing the boys my egg
and I don’t know exactly what happened, but I think a big boy sat on it
somehow. Suddenly it became so funny and
we began to stomp it. We ground that
sugar egg to a pulp – yes, right on the same masterfully waxed hardwood floors
that the tadpoles had been upon – until there was nothing left. It was for some reason, hilarious fun and I’m
sure Mom was mad.
Curt’s ace in the hole was letting me sleep on his shoulder
during church. We would sit close to the
front with all of the old ladies while Dad sang in the choir and Mom worked in
the nursery. I’m pretty sure that is
where he gained angel status from those little old ladies. One even gave him a quarter once in a while. Well played, brother – well played.
We spent hours outside every day. There was quite a North End gang of
neighborhood kids who fought, laughed and tattled on one another. Curt and his buddies were always bringing in
a fish, snake, or toad of some kind. Once
we had a spreading adder in a box cage in our back yard. Dad made a back yard “goldfish pond” when the
aquarium became tiresome in the house.
There are a couple of “incidents” that involve my brother’s
lack of good judgment. At six years old,
he was supposed to mow the grass. Mom
went outside to find him and his bicycle gone.
She grabbed me and threw me into the car and off we went. I’m not sure how she knew where to look, but
we went to the Highway Department to get Dad.
Curt was found riding his bicycle toward Crowley’s Ridge just passed
Johnny’s Drive Inn. His bicycle was put
in the car and he lamely explained that he was “…going to Uncle Roy’s to get
himself a dog.” (Uncle Roy lived at Highland, AR). He got a whooping for that – and it was
talked about for years. However, he did
get a dog – a beagle named Bennett. We
weren’t very good dog owners and so poor Bennett was stuck in the back yard
trotting around the outside path that he had made day in and day out.
Curt was there begging me to not do it when I shot myself in
the nose with a dart gun at close range and had my first in a long line of
bloody noses. He was there when I went
low for a basketball and split my head open on the car license plate and had to
get stitches. And he was there when I
danced upon the slick soapy car we were washing begging me to stop before I
fell, hitting my head and breaking the stiches open. We played in the ditch when it rained and
shared the front sidewalk with skateboards, skates, bicycles and
hopscotch. We played kick ball in the
front yard and spot light with the neighborhood kids (until he got too big for
us and went up the street to play with bigger boys and stay out later). We jumped the Sycamore tree when it was a
sapling until it bent over and then climbed it to the sky when it grew taller
than any around. We watched clouds and
stars from a quilt in the yard when it was too hot to stay in our un-air-conditioned
house. We played marbles in our long
hallway and fought over the best spot in front of the wall heater as we watched
Popeye, Fog Horn-Leg Horn, and Johnny Quest when it was cold outside. We stayed up late together and he loved
nothing better than scaring me to death by watching Savod and the vampire shows
that followed.
The second incident, of which I previously spoke, happened
when I was about 12. Curt didn’t show up
for school. That was unheard of. He had ditched school and it almost went
viral (would have if that was even a thing then). The police were called, his best fiend got
out of school to go down on the creek and look for him, and Wednesday Night
services at the First Baptist Church were called off. Dad was out of town and he was called
home. Our older sister, Jo, was away at
college and she came with him. My
friends and I got on our bicycles and went into the “woods” to look for
him - but we got scared because we
thought we found a hobo’s campsite, so we left.
The whole small town was in an uproar.
At about 9:00 pm, he came home.
Then…Dad talked to him, Jo talked to him, and his best friend talked to
him and Mom cried. THEN…he got a
whooping. He had neglected to do some
“important” schoolwork and that was that.
The teacher let him make it up, the sister helped since she was
home. And things went back to
normal. Mom always said that he was the
easiest child to raise, being the only boy.
He was a good boy. Really.
Curt has always had an artistic eye. He has a talent with paint and with
clay. He would make these little
critters out of clay and put them on a shelf in his room. They were so life-like. One day Mom was dusting said shelf, when she
picked up one of them to dust under. She
was quite surprised and rattled to discover it was real! It was dead and dried up, but a real
lizard. You never knew what you might
find in his room.
One day I had been at a friend’s house and came home to a
slightly misplaced poster on my wall. It
didn’t take long to discover the hole in my Bulldog red wall that he had put
there the night before. Mom always
explained that he just had a lot of pent up energy. I don’t know.
All I know is that he pounded my wall when he wasn’t even mad at anyone
or anything and I had to live with a poster off-center to cover the
evidence. And really, Mom wasn’t mad.
As teenagers, we became friends. We were a part of the first Youth Group at
our church. Curt could drive and he was
good to me. I don’t know if that was
because he liked me – or if it was because he liked my cute friends. Our first Youth Minister and Curt had a
special bond. Curt allowed me to go over
to their house with him and we would play games and listen to music into the
wee hours of the night. We would stay
out past our local 11:00 pm “curfew” but we were never caught. It was all in good fun and no harm done.
We received tickets to the Cotton Bowl for Christmas one year. Curt had a red Volkswagen Bug by then. We went to Dallas, where our sister lived,
and stayed with her. We made the whole
trip on about $13.00. Gas wasn’t very
expensive and we ate gas station food the whole way. We didn’t stop very much and we had a
blast. Unfortunately, in Dallas we had
to pick up one of Curt’s married friends who had a kid, and I got shifted to
the back seat with the kid for the ride home.
But the trip and our frugal ways live in infamy.
Curt was a hard worker – and did so from early teen years
on. He worked at Chester’s Chops and
Chicken to make a little extra money. He
also worked at the Daily Press, changing paper rolls at night, I think. He took my friends and me a lot of
places. We would drive all over the
county on gravel roads. Just when I
thought we were completely lost, he would know how to get home. He always said that Dad told him every county
gravel road leads somewhere – just keep driving. When I turned 16 we only had one car – the
family car – and he was generous with me, often letting me have his turn
because he would be working or would hang out with his girlfriend.
Many nights we would wind up at our house with our friends -
both his and mine. We would play Spades,
drink cokes, watch Roller Derby and hang out with Mom and Dad. We also liked the Midnight Special and Soul
Train back in the day before music videos.
I have very good memories as a teenager with him.
He played football and so he was a friend with my friends
who also played football. He took every
opportunity to gig me about it that he had.
He would tell me about locker room talk, as if he had really embarrassed
me. I would be mortified and he would
just laugh. He knew how to push my buttons,
for sure.
One summer, our Youth Group played softball together all
summer long. We would go to the little
pick up lot behind the cemetery and play and hang out. As everyone did, we would get into our cars
and drive the loop, looking for other people.
We had a little game we played called, “Rat Racing”. Rat Racing involved two vehicles that had
spied one another and engaged in “racing” and “chasing” one another around
town. The car I was in was the car
behind and we were pursuing Curt and his friend. Sometimes Rat Racing involved
some dangerous scenarios – like running a red light at the last minute or
driving too fast for a curve. We had
played and tired of it. Curt and his
friend were out of sight and we had given up.
We were quite panicked when we rounded the corner and Curt’s car (our
family car) was in the ditch and an eighteen-wheeler was sideways. Curt had been making a turn into a
sub-division and the big truck clipped him.
It was very scary. The car was
badly damaged and the boys had been thrown around be no one was hurt.
My sophomore year and his senior year in High School, we had
a flash flood that overtook our school.
I had a visiting friend (odd, but true) and we were dismissed due to
rising waters. It was crazy. They just let us go. By that time, they were bringing in Army
trucks and fishing boats and anything they could to get us out, but with no
real order. Quickly, Curt found my
friend and me. He took charge and I knew
we would be ok. He found a boat for us
to get into and some local men gathered around it to hold it steady. We sunk.
The dangerous waters were rushing and full of undercurrents and sticks
and even snakes. Curt told us to lock
arms and hold tight seeing that we were going to have to walk through the chest
high muddy water to safety. Sometimes a
big brother can be valuable – and he certainly was that day.
We double dated, made fun of one another, got stuck on a
sandy beach and rescued by a drunken man.
We rarely said “I love you, “ but I know at least once I said, “I hate
you, “ but I didn’t mean it.
When Curt was a freshman at ASU – his first attempt at
college – he was approached by a State Representative to help the ABC (Alcohol
Beverage Control) with a sting operation.
Minors were buying liquor easily and it seemed to be readily accessible
to any who wanted it. Curt knew this to
be true because some young people, with whom he was close, were doing so. He was known to have a pretty squeaky clean
reputation and they thought he would be the perfect plant. He did as he was asked and the ABC taped his
buy. The liquor store was fined and in
trouble. The whole thing went to court. Many of my classmates were so mad at their
source being cut off and mad at him for being the reason. I’m sure my brother was called names and
maybe even threatened. I do know he had
to go to court and those who had engaged him threw him under the bus. Yet, this is another reason, I find him to be
superior to other brothers. He was sure
and steady and unwavering in his convictions – and is yet today.
Sometime around that time Curt began to preach. He was called upon to deliver the message at
several little local churches and I would be invited to go, too. He felt a strong call into the ministry, but
didn’t really know at that time what that would look like.
He was 19 and I was 17 when we made our move to
Batesville. He was working at Banquet
Foods and preparing to go to Ouachita in the fall and I was going into my
senior year in High School. We both had
someone special that we would be moving away from. I was quite devastated. He and I drove together to our new home, with
Mom and Dad going before us. We pulled
into our new driveway and I looked at him and said, “It sucks”. He laughed and at that moment I was so glad
to have him there with me.
As summer turned to fall that year, I was starting a new
school my last year. Curt was also
starting a new school – his first year.
He did the most amazing thing that I still can’t get over. He gave me his car to drive! He went to college with no car and gave me
his car to drive. He thought that I
needed it more than he did and truth is – he just loved me that much. He wanted me to be able to go to lunch with
other people and not have to stay on campus.
He wanted me to be able to get around my new town and knew he wouldn’t
be there with me. It was the most
selfless act that a 19-year-old brother could do. I will never forget that he did that for
me. AND I wrecked it…but later he
wrecked it (and another and another and another – whew boy!)
We both wound up at Ouachita one year together. He was dating someone new and so was I. It was a lonely year for me and he didn’t
have a strong love for campus politics.
He didn’t appreciate the campus social clubs and was known somewhat of a
rebel. Once again, he worked hard. He had a job in the cafeteria to make extra
money and to pay for school. I found myself
eating alone many times at dinner after a hard day in the music lab. It was Halloween, no doubt. As I entered the cafeteria, a green humped
back man dragging a chain growled and grabbed me, throwing me over his shoulder
and twirling me around. The wide-eyed
students who were waiting in line scattered and screamed. He shook his chains and rattled them at the
others as he put me down. I guess I
didn’t say anything and didn’t look shocked.
I remember a guy asking me why I wasn’t scared. I don’t know if I answered but in my head I
rolled my eyes and said, “That is my
brother.”
We made it to adulthood together and were both in
relationships with intention of marriage.
The next year he stood in front of Mickey and me and married us to one
another. We have raised children
together, spent almost every holiday together, mourned together, and now we
live next door to one another. As adults
he has kept my children, helped me with broken-down vehicles, been my champion
when people have wronged me, shared life with me, helped my adult children when
they needed help, gifted my grandchildren with toys and fun, taken care of not
only Mom’s yard and her needs but also mine and Mickey’s. I do love him. I love that a few years ago he began saying
that every time he hung up the phone – not just to me, but also to anyone he
loves. There is no doubt – he loves me. I thank God for sparing his life and bringing
him through a rough year a few ago. He
broke his leg and it was a long hard healing process and then he battled
cancer. I know no better husband, dad or
grandfather. And I certainly know no
better brother!
Happy Birthday…and many more!
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