My Dad, Monroe William Liverett

When I was six-years-old, I thought Roy Rogers was my real dad. I knew someday the truth would come out and I would live with Roy and Dale. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my dad. I think because he was at work on the second shift at the Goodyear Mill I didn’t see him a lot. My dad would leave for work at 3:00 pm, before I got home from school and arrive home at midnight. He would be asleep when I left for school in the morning.

While he worked at the mill, Dad suggested time saving procedures and was awarded $25.00 for each proposal. As  I recall, he had observed in the pre-dip area, the operator had to open a door repeatedly to make an adjustment. Dad figured a way this procedure could be done without sending a man into the furnace-like room.

In 1955, Dad was laid off from the mill. With his experience of being a sharecropper the 1930s, he thought growing cotton was the best way to keep food on the table. For two years on the back lots, owned by Mr. Justice, behind our house on Cedar Street we grew cotton. I still remember that when I was in the fifth grade, Dad trusted me to plow the cotton with our secondhand Farmall tractor. With help from the Bond twins, my brother Edwin, Dad, and I picked all the cotton.

Mom had started selling Watkins products in the mid-1950s. It wasn’t long until Dad joined her. “Mr Watkins Man,” as he was called, had discovered his calling and had the acceptance of the African-American communities of Morgan County.

The one big vacation our family took was in 1950. We went to see Rock City and on to the Grand Ole Opry. We arrived late and the ticket office wasn’t going to let us in but Dad finally talked the man to letting us in. What I remember about the evening was the coke that fell from the balcony onto our pew.

I never had a long conversation with Dad., but I always thought he loved me. He always appeared to be this quiet, reserved person. The one time I saw his temper was the day that I borrowed Edwin’s BB gun. My friend Sonny Boy and I decided to shoot some birds in our big live oak trees. Sonny Boy shot first and unfortunately shot the window fan of our neighbor Porter Harris. After receiving a call from Mr. Harris, Dad grabbed the gun and pounded it into the back porch step until there were two separate pieces.

I only saw my dad cry twice. Once at his sister Mary’s funeral and the other time was when we took Edwin to Auburn University to begin his freshmen year.

I was always in awe of Dad’s musical abilities. I still remember Dad, Buford Brewer, and O.T. Terry playing their guitars and singing country and gospel songs on our wrap-around front porch. Dad also played the harmonica with the help of a holder that he had fashioned.

Monroe William Liverett was my dad and I miss him. He would be one hundred years old next year. Born June 29, 1912, he was the youngest of sixteen children. This man with unquestionable integrity was one of the most respected persons in our community.

Eventually I came to realize that Roy Rogers could not play the guitar and a harmonica at the same time.