Jimmy Honey

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Biography

Jimmy Honey is a Military Veteran.
Served in the United States Air Force 1979-1987 attaining Staff Sergeant
Peace time service.

Jimmy Honey is an Arkansan.

Jimmy Honey was a Floridian.

Jimmy Honey was an Alaskan.

Jimmy Honey was a North Dakotan.

My earliest childhood memory is when we lived in Mansfield, Sebastian County, Arkansas. After my birth, we lived for a short time in a rural area in Greenwood, but I have no memory of it, other than family photos. Before my birth, the family had returned from California. My dad would tell the story that they came home for a visit and everyone wanted to stay, so they never went back. Just left everything in California. Later, I would learn there was a dark secret that explained the real reason we left. ^[1]

We were dirt poor, and most of the time bordered on being homeless. We eventually moved to Mansfield, to live on my grandparents' land sometime around 1963. They were both gone at this time, and dad's younger sister, my Aunt Ruby, and her children lived in the main house. Dad made a barn on the place into a house where me and my other 7 siblings would call home. The house was a two bedroom, probably around 1000 square feet. My parents slept in one room, and the rest of us slept in the other, boys and girls, except for my two oldest brothers, slept on the back porch. Part of the back porch was enclosed in cardboard for walls, and that was all between you and the weather. It was not heated, the only warmth was the covers on the bed. Not much different from inside the house, as we never heated the house at night. We had electricity, but no running water or indoor bathroom. The floor on the house was not level, and I can remember Mamma washing the floors and all the water running to one corner of the room. ^[1]

We had a bowl of water on the table next to the kitchen with a ladle from which we all drank. Water was hand drawn from a well on the property. We had an outhouse for a bathroom and used old newspaper to clean up after you finished your business. In the winter, at night, we would keep a bucket on the porch that us younger kids could use instead of going outside to the outhouse. When it came time to take baths, Mamma heated water on the stove and poured it in a 28 gallon galvanized metal tub. All the kids took a bath in the same water. In the summer, we placed the tub on the back porch and hung blankets around it for privacy, and in the winter we set it in the living room with sheets for privacy. Despite being poor most of our life, I never felt like we were doing without, as I had nothing to compare it with. I simply reckoned this was how every family lived, and there was nothing else. ^[1]

I had eight siblings, mom stayed home most of her life caring for us, and dad worked at minimum low paying jobs in factories. My oldest sister never lived at home from the time I was born. The son she had, Bill, came to live with us when I was about 1 year old, and he was raised as my brother. I never knew the family secret until much later in life. My brother Gerald left while I was young fighting in the Vietnam war. So for the most part, there were seven of us living in the home at Mansfield. One of my sisters ran away with a boy when she was 14 and started a family (pregnant at 15) in California. That eventually left only 6 of us children at home. ^[1]

We lived in this home in Mansfield until about 1967. As I look back on my childhood, these are the fondest memories I have growing up. Even though this was the lowest point, we had sunk into poverty. It was, as they would say, the best of times and the worst of times. The home had about ten acres of land, and we rented another 30 acres, adjoining the property from the railroad. Dad raised pigs, and my older brother Robert raised calves and cows on the place. We had chickens and many cats. The chickens were something my brother started, but it helped feed us with fresh eggs. It all went to support the family. He had pigeons he raised as pets. Robert dropped out of school at an early age and worked on farms in the local area. He was a laborious worker, and the main reason we would later raise our standard of living. Everything he earned as a young man went back into the family to support us. ^[1]

Only two of of my father's siblings ever visited us regularly, Aunt Blanche and Uncle Toney. I can remember our family going up to the main house, sitting with my Aunt Ruby, and visiting. I don't remember what was talked about among the adults, but I can remember that us kids we would go in the house and sit quietly to watch television, and my cousin Charles would turn the TV off and leave the room, so we could not watch. There was some animosity there, I never knew what the rift was between the families. Perhaps they were worried we would claim the homestead, as it was never probated after my grand parents' death, until much later. ^[1]

During this time I also remember them having a dog chained in the yard that would charge you if you got too close to the chain. One misstep, and you were dog food. Mom and Dad would visit sitting in lawn furniture. We never went in the house to sit and visit or have dinner together. Later after, we moved to a rural farm in Huntington, only about 12 miles away. We never visited again, and Aunt Ruby never came to our house, other than when my mother passed away. ^[1]

My mom and dad separated for a short time while we lived in Mansfield. Mom took the train with us to Arizona, where we stayed with one of my aunts. I don't remember her name. I just remember it was a scary time, as she would usher us all to the bedroom and lock us in the room to pray. I didn't know what was going on, but I remember Mamma crying, and this upset me. Either mother wore down or the family forced us to return home. So we made our way back to the only home I had known at this point in Mansfield. To be honest, as I used the word Dad to describe my father, I had no concept what this was. To me, he was just an angry man who lived in our home. Our family never showed or expressed affection. Maybe life was too much of a struggle, or maybe this is exactly how they were raised. When dad came home, you were not allowed to make any noise, as this would set him off. Even laughing in the bedroom would cause him to get angry. For the most part, when weather permitted, you stayed out of the house until time for supper. Even when it rained, we stayed in the barn. When winter came, and we had to stay indoors more, I can remember cowarding to the bedroom, trying ever so to be quiet as not to enrage him. One snicker or burst of laughter could bring him angrily storming into the room. ^[1]

Around 1967, we moved to a farm between Greenwood and Huntington in Sebastian County, Arkansas. It was in a community called Dayton on Austin King Road. The road was named after the person who owned the land. It didn't have a name at the time, just a dirt county road. The railroad told us they would no longer rent us the 30 acres the family had been renting, and we had too many cows to keep on 10 acres. The farm had 80 acres of land, plenty of room for our cattle, and enough to expand. The home was a one-bedroom house, but much larger than the one we lived in before. We converted the dining room into a bedroom. My three sisters (Christine, Shirley and Marla) slept there in the same bed. There was a utility room my brother Robert had to himself, and me and Billy slept in bunk beds in what would have been a sun room. For the first time, we had indoor plumbing, land to explore, it was like winning the jackpot. Life was full of excitement as we moved in and settled down in the new homestead. ^[1]

Christine married her husband Delbert, and he joined the army. She moved out of the house to start her family. She would later return to live with us when her husband served in the Vietnam war. ^[1]

We rented the land for two years, and after that my mom encouraged my brother Robert to buy the place. The owner was reluctant to sell the property to Robert and have it in his name, as he thought he was too young. So my parents put the property in their name, but the down payment and monthly land payments were made by selling cattle that my brother owned. My mother always told us children this is Robert's house, but after her death, Dad would claim it as his own, and my brother would have to beg for a small parcel to build a house. ^[1]

With some children leaving the nest and the others capable of caring for themselves, my mother took a job at Ayers furniture factory, Robert worked there eventually becoming a supervisor, and my dad worked at Baldor Electric. Robert paid around $19,000 for the land, and over the years, with everyone working, he made extra payments to pay for the land. The bulk came from selling cattle, but he put all his pay check toward paying it off. For a year or two, the good times continued. It was still a happy childhood, but that would not last long. When I was about 9 years old, Mamma became sick. She first went into the hospital for a blood clot in her leg, but during the surgery they found she had cancer. She went in for a few more surgeries, but quickly became bedridden. None of the surgeries seemed to help. She still had pain in her leg, and the cancer continued to spread. I can remember her crying hours in pain. Despite having pain pills, I don't believe a day went by with her crying in agony from the pain. She died when I was about eleven years old. The agony she went through before her death left an indelible scar on me, and my siblings. ^[1]

Growing up we rarely left the farm. Going to town for shopping or browsing the stores was done about once a month. We never went out and ate at restaurants or visited other families. The only outing we went regularly was to the stockyards in Waldron. Growing up, we only had three pairs of jeans, maybe a dozen shirts. At the start of each school year, dad would buy up to three pairs if we needed them, and then these were to last us the whole year. Each day you came home, you took off your newest jeans and put on your working clothes (or everyday clothes) so that you could wear the jeans again the next day. These 3 pairs had to last you until he would go washing about every two weeks. We didn't have a laundry at home, so he had to take them to a laundry mat. After I started working after school, I was expected to buy my own clothes, even though we qualified for the school lunch program (paid lunches). He insisted I buy my own lunches with the money I earned from working. ^[1]

I never really knew my parents family. My Aunt Blanche lived out of state and would return yearly to visit family. Usually, in May around decoration day. She would always come by and visit for a day or two for as long as I can remember. She would later mend some relationships dad had with his other siblings where he would visit, or they would come with her sometime, but that would be several years later. Uncle Toney was the only other member of dad's family that would come by on occasions. For the most part, we were told to go outside and never stay in the house, to hear what they talked about. I can remember Uncle Toney would save all the prizes you got in cracker jacks and bring us a sack full of them whenever he visited. It was exciting to open the prizes and play with the toys. It was a time when cracker jacks had some elaborate prizes. When we would go to town on our once a month errand, dad would stop at Tony's house sometime, in Fort Smith. He forced us to wait in the car, and we were never allowed to go in the house. I don't know if this was done for an excuse not to stay long, or he didn't like the ideal of us having any contact with family. If you ever asked about family, grandparents, uncles or aunts, you were told it was none of your business. There were secrets there, I would never learn them. ^[1]

The only thing I learned about my father's family was stories he would tell later in life. He would talk about his childhood from time to time, and the only siblings he ever mentioned were Aunt Blanche and Uncle Toney. He would also talk about going to bars with Aunt Bill's husband, Jack. But, he never mentioned her by name in any of his childhood stories. I can remember Uncle Ira used to write him regularly, but we were never allowed to read the letters or be told what was said. He also used to speak of his mother and dad not treating him right and being harsher on him than the other siblings. ^[1]

When I was 18 (1979), and graduated from high school, I had no driver's license, no car, only the cloths on my back. I joined the Air Force, and when I left, the only thing I took was the clothes I was wearing. I knew this was the only chance of getting out of the house. Although I still felt an obligation to my father. I sent home money every paycheck to help make up for the lost SSA benefits he had received for me. ^[1]

I was sent to San Antonio, Texas for basic training. My first night there, I thought to myself, oh boy, I've made a mistake. When the drill sergeant came in with that bellowing voice and yelling, I could only think I had left one nightmare for another. But, as days went by, I survived. It was not the same, they were not insults, only orders. I can remember that one day at the Chow Hall, some other drill sergeants laughed and made fun of my name (Airman Honey) when I reported to the table. It didn't bother me, I was used too much worse, but afterwards my drill sergeant called me to the office and apologized, saying he did not agree with that conduct. I was for the first time an equal, one of many. After basic, I trained at the technical school in San Antonio as a Security Specialist. ^[1]

My first assignment out of basic was Tyndall Air Force Base (AFB) in Panama City, Florida. I arrived late in the day, and received a warm welcome at the police headquarters, but when I was taken to the barracks, it was the opposite. Everyone was yelling we don't want him, and throwing beer cans out of the dorm. The squadron had a huge bust for drugs before my arrival, and was extremely shorthanded, as most of them had been relieved of duty. As I took my duffle bag inside in many respects, it seemed like I was being thrown in with a bunch of criminals. I can remember the airman telling me everything will be okay. Well, it was, as I got to know them, they were not criminals, merely everyday Americans. In many respects, even though it might be different carrying the same baggage as me. ^[1]

I strived in the military. My sergeant was a tough guy they called "wardog" (Staff Sergeant Harvey), a former Vietnam veteran. He was a disciplinarian, but I had no problem following his orders to the letter. I had done that all my life. They noticed me and began to pick me up for additional assignments. Including putting me on the Air Base Ground Defense Force (ABGD). I was an airman stationed in paradise, but I might as well have been a fish out of water. I was an introvert, incapable of socializing. For me, paradise had nothing to offer outside of work. ^[1]

If there was anything unfortunate about the military, it was the drinking of alcohol. Everyone was pushed to drink beer. If you passed an inspection, then the reward was all the free beer you could drink. If you had an off-duty gathering, it was drinking and everyone was expected to drink. The club on base offered all kinds of liquor cheap and on credit if you needed it. When you got off work, there were people passed out all around the barracks. There was enough drinking to put any college frat house to shame. I soon realized you can't drink like this and not become addictive, so I quit. Many airmen didn't or couldn't, and suffered the consequences. It took courage and fortitude to refuse to drink. The military pushed it on you and expected you to drink as a form of comradery. There were formal drink functions that were mandatory to attend. You would go to these functions, and if you made a military protocol error, an officer ordered you or a senior sergeant to the grog bowl to drink liquor. There was no opting out or refusing. The whole intent was to find any infraction to make you take a drink. The more you drink, the more infractions you made. The good thing is the functions were not done that often, and I managed to avoid them by working. Everyone and most definitely sergeants were expected to join the club, where its primary purpose was to sell alcohol. Technically, you were not required to join, as it cost money to be a member, but when they came around, you were told it is your duty to support the club. Toward the end, when I got out of the military, they began to realize they had a drinking problem and cleaned some of this up. I personally look on the military as one of the best decisions in my life. The training I received and the character it instilled in me have been useful throughout my life. ^[1]

Sources

1. ↑ ^{1.00 1.01 1.02 1.03 1.04 1.05 1.06 1.07 1.08 1.09 1.10 1.11 1.12 1.13 1.14 1.15 1.16 1.17 1.18 1.19} Jimmy Honey. Personal recollection, 1 Jan 2022

Advance Directive

In the event of my incapacitation or death, I hereby grant permission for all private profiles under my management on Wikitree to be transferred to any related Wikitree users, or if none are available, to any interested Wikitree users, regardless of their current status on the Trusted Lists. Additionally, I request that my profile be made public and any space pages I have created be made accessible for others to manage and maintain. This is to ensure the continued preservation and sharing of genealogical information within the Wikitree community. Jim Honey