My Brain’s Is Biling

My Dad had a black tenant, Will Lockhart, who share-cropped with him from the early thirties until the early forties. Will was a unique character. He did not socialize with other blacks to the extent as did most blacks in the community among themselves. One reason for this was Will’s eccentricity. His thinking simply was not normal. He was not suspected of being ignorant nor stupid, but he did not always think and do about things as did most other people. Will’s problem began while he worked briefly for another Will.

Will Brister of Kilmichael, Mississippi owned property in the Mississippi Delta. As most land owners of delta property, he grew a lot of cotton. Will Brister once told Dad that in the late twenties, Will Lockhart, behaving normally and dressed the most ragged that he had ever seen came to his Delta plantation one fall. He inquired of Mr. Brister if he would hire him to pick cotton and earn some sorely needed cash. Mr. Brister told Will he could use some help. Will then asked him if he would supply him some clothes until he could earn some money.

Mr. Brister knew Will and his family to be honest, hard-working black folks. He gave Will a signed note and told him to go to the commissary and give the note to the manager and he would fit him with clothes. Will did not want to miss his chance to obtain warm winter clothes. He drew himself a suit of long underwear, a long sleeved shirt, a pair overalls, a blanket lined jumper, and a thick pair of socks, a pair of high top work shoes, and a warm cap. Then he went to the cotton fields.

Upon arrival at the cotton field, Will was surrounded by other cotton pickers who were strangers to him. The weather was very hot, nor he did not dare for fear of losing the clothes to pull off a single one of the garments. He began picking cotton as fast as he could in that humid and hot weather condition.

After several hours of picking cotton in the heat he came to Mr. Brister and said, “My brains is biling.”

Will Brister told Dad that Will Lockhart was normal until that occurance, but that thereafter he was never the same. They concluded that Will had suffered a heat stroke and that his brain was affected for life.

So far as I know Will is still living today. It has been several years since I went by to see him. Will has always called me ‘Baby’ as I was the youngest of my siblings. Although I am past sixty years of age, he would call be ‘Baby’ if I should visit him tomorrow. The strange thing about Will and my relationship with him is that I would not be offended in the least. Will might have acted differently but he likes people-both black and white.

This was written by Roy C. Watson on August 30, 1988 at Jackson, Mississippi.