I have brought together all the parts into one post, and reposted this to both blogs, enjoy.
Lloyd W. Duncan
I had the opportunity the other day, could say I took it, to express, in brief, my opinion about certain prejudices. A young man I knew when he was a child, now in Bible College, posed a question on his Facebook page. “Would a human clone have a soul?” Fair question, I suppose. Some of the responses were what any reader might expect, while others, from a biblical point of view, seemed totally lacking in spiritual understanding. It wasn’t until I read those responses that I felt compelled to put in my two cents worth. And since, I feel, my guidance comes from the Lord on things that I’ve studied and prayed about, and barring error on my part, I would suggest its worth a lot more.
One response I want to discuss in particular simply stated that a soul would be automatic if there were life in the clone. I agree. But, then they dropped the bomb. “How would a man-made soul react with all the God made souls?” Duh…WHAT?? Now, I would ask that you not try the childish challenges and ask me, “Oh! So you’ve studied and prayed about human clones?!?” Of, course not. But, I have very much done so toward prejudices, relating to Gods’ creations and people He has given life to. That would be all of them. What I hope to show is that if there were a “deeper, core understanding” of the one, you would know how to respond to the other.
You need to know that this is not a subject I take lightly. This post will be extremely brief compared to the space this topic deserves and, indeed, commands. I am only going to give you what was revealed to me by the Lord during a particular time deep prayer and Bible study, therefore I can’t offer book references other than the couple of scriptures you’ll see. After you have an understanding that all this racial prejudice doesn’t come from God, you’ll realize it does come from man. For an in-depth study of all the lies that have been perpetrated on people of color, ANY color, I would highly recommend the well prepared book by Dr. Frederick K.C. Price: Race, Religion, and Racism. There are many others, but I reference this one as a means of bringing some attention to his work.
Let’s start with my personal experience with racism. I was raised in a southern extended family that tried their best to raise me and my generational equals to be racially prejudiced. Somewhere along the way, thank the Lord, the teachings began to break down at their foundation. During my life the family stance started being hidden from the kids. This was due to, among other things, a desire to avoid confrontations that came up because the kids did not comprehend, and therefore could not exercise, discretion. I recall an incident or two where one of us blurted out racial phrases in public, without restraint and simply because it was the language of the home(s). There was no embarrassment, nor malice, on our part, for neither was there any connection between these phrases and any black person. They were just words. We had little else to “contend” with in our area. So, those kinds of remarks began to disappear from the adults but, it wasn’t a change of heart or new-found enlightenment, it was to protect us from conflict in the now “ruined” school system.
I started first grade in 1968. The national demand for desegregation had been law for a while but, it was rejected, fought and just ignored in our part of the world. They, the southern establishment, did the same thing when the slaves were freed. They simply did not tell the slaves, or “owners”, that by law of the Emancipation Proclamation, they were free, and/or had no slaves. As a result, we have a holiday in the south that, though it should be celebratory for all, is mostly observed by the black population; Juneteenth, June 19, 1865, the recognized freedom date a full two and a half years after the fact. So, when I started school, there was an all-black school in town. All other schools were all white or, at least, had no blacks. Each year on the first day of school, and occasionally a few days during the year, a black kid would be seen walking to the office of my school to enroll, because they had moved into “this side” of town. Those attempts never succeeded. It took a lot of giving in, acceptance of defeat, to get the schools desegregated. I was in 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th grades during this time and certainly not privy to the details but, most certainly affected by the conversations that were not discreet; “If they close the black school I’m takin my kids outta school!”, “They can’t learn regular school work, why are we mixing with them?”
It came to pass that in my fourth year, the state decided that the desegregation efforts were still not enough, as there was still an all-white school in town, mine. It became the reverse “token”, the place to hold on to the white supremacy ideology. And even their attempts at projecting a segregated picture by letting in a few “not completely black” Mexicans would not help them prevail against social demands for unity. Among us students, who had never seen a black kid in school, we didn’t know how to act. Now, read that again. I want you to see the underlying pressure that was upon us kids. We didn’t know how to act, but we somehow knew, whether assumed or told, that we were supposed to act different. But, that’s the point, we knew something was expected of us and we had no idea how to answer those expectations.
As for myself, I tried not to bring it up much. I could go to school and come home and the whole matter wouldn’t have much effect on me in the immediate. As to how we were supposed to act, that came out at home, from those we had to answer to. It was the same things I’ve heard now ongoing for many years; “You have to go to school with them, but you will not play with them, and do not bring them home with you.” “We have to work with them, but don’t tell them where we gather after work.” I was during this year that, due to my parents’ divorce, I transferred to a much bigger school in the Dallas area. There were kids of all colors there and you wouldn’t believe what we had to do there! Every day we went to school, we did just plain old school work. Imagine that.
All during this time my family was failing miserably in their racist training efforts. When I look back, I can now say their actions show that their heart couldn’t really have been in it. In fact, their heart told another story all together. It told us that their actions, at least from some of them, were due to a peer pressure of their own. Fortunately, I never saw any negative actions except those statements of “us” being better than “them”. The old and very true saying “your actions speak louder than your words” was already at work removing the vail that their peer pressure had put in place.
My dad was, of course, to be the example in our upbringing. He was also trying to follow his examples and gain approval from them, his elders in the family. But, there was a clash between two separate sets of examples we were all supposed to follow. The second set came from the elder women and was based in a deep desire to follow and please the Lord! This resulted in both beliefs showing up on the surface, but one got lip service while the other got the action. “We are just not going to have anything to do with blacks, but… well, we need to help those babies, I mean it’s not their fault, right?” “You kids move over.” And with that the rear door of our car flew open in a blinding rain storm and a young black mother and her three very little children piled into the backseat with us. “We can take where ever you need to go.” Most racist thing I ever saw. Then, I was home on leave one time, my Dad and I were about to enter a local store, “Mr. Duncan” we heard. An older black man came up to us, shook hands with us both, and handed my dad $600. The man thanked my dad profusely and apologized for taking so long. My dad asked him was he sure he could do this all at one time. The man said no, but he would not keep his money any longer. Dad only accepted half the money and told him not to worry about the rest. I was told later that the man’s wife was a woman that we had talked to for years out at the lake where we lived. She would come to fish on the banks near our house with her long cane poles. She had been diagnosed with cancer, which took her rather quickly but, there was a period of great pain, and no medicine. What a racist thing to do, Dad.
These stories far outnumber the real episodes of racism that I saw from any of my family, extended or otherwise. But, these happenings were separated instances and without much weight in my life for a long time. I never took up being actively racially prejudice, it was just something I wanted to leave alone. So, I avoided the subject because I didn’t really understand it, its meaning or its purpose. But, just like all things, there came the time when I found myself in the middle of it and both sides asking me choose. The first few times that happened, I managed to skate by without losing too many friends on either side. Hope you caught that. And I held in my mind, that someday I was going to have to formulate a response to this situation that I could really stand on, one way or the other. I had agreed with the whites, when needed. WHEN NEEDED! I didn’t need to be the victim of a racist beating when all I had to do was – ” oh yea, you right, well see you fella’s later.” And I agreed with the blacks… …fill in all the same stuff here.
And then that day came. It was the Lord that flashed the truth of the whole situation right in front of my face! The formulated response that I could stand on had begun to take shape and, as I had always leaned toward, it was not going to be the side of prejudice!
I spent a large segment of my life in the field of law enforcement. I know that might get a gasp from some of you who think you know me, but you do not. It was during this segment of time that the Lord gave me something I had wanted for a long time. I had no idea it would come from Him, which shows how close I had previously not been to Him. I had carried in my mind, for a long time, some unfinished business that would lend itself to defining who I was, what I would believe, and what stand I would take on this issue of racism and prejudice. The formulated answer that I would come to stand on, and now do, would not come for another couple of years, but this was definitely the jumping off point, as it were. This stuck with me so strongly, for years, just hanging there, demanding attention.
One day, I found myself in a nearby police station conducting business with an older, fellow officer. From where we were we could see thru a tinted plate-glass window out to the entrance to station lobby. And in thru the front doors walked a young couple, and their two kids. One of the couple was white, the other was black. I seriously don’t remember which was which, and probably wouldn’t mention it anyway. Pardon my southerners language, but…it don’t matter. I saw this, as did the other fellow, and simply continued waiting for him to finish up whatever he was doing. He, apparently, couldn’t resist the opportunity to let out something that would define him, and seek to define me.
The other officer sort of grunted, shook his head, “Uhm, mm, mm.” as he stared at the family. My immediate thought was he must have come from a family background like mine! I knew he wanted a response from me, from the ensuing look I got. So, I simply smiled, and stated “You have feelings about that.” He proceeded to tell me that he did, that he didn’t agree with mixing races and then, as most racist do, tried to leave himself an exit while providing an air tight justification for his position. He said , “You know, I don’t agree with the mixed marriage, I think it’s wrong but, those people are adults, they don’t live with me and if they choose go thru the trouble they’ll have for being in a mixed marriage, well, it’s their choice, it’s all on them.” And then he paused, I thought he was done and that his statement was one of truth and fact. And then, “But, you know what’s really wrong?…is that those kids did not get to choose, they had no say in being born half-breed, and they have to go thru their lives with the trouble that’s going to bring to them. Maybe the white half will step up to the plate.”
Being totally honest, I had to think about that for a while; a long while. Not to change the subject, but, I later figured out that at that very moment, Satan had won a victory. It was a small victory in the very large war of racism. He had once again taken a seemingly true statement and used it to deceive and hide the real truth, which we will get to in a bit. I, for some reason (Gods Intervention), could not come up with a response, for or against. I mean to say that the only thing I took from that meet was a crystal clear “Mind Tube video” of what happened, and I knew I wouldn’t forget it. His statement had drawn out of me a real feeling of sympathy for those kids, but it seemed so very out-of-place in this racial “half-breed” picture he had painted. Now, remember, this was before my lesson from God on this subject. So, I left there feeling that his observation and statements were very wrong, I was not comfortable at all with it. That was the frustrating delimma I suffered; because, for the life of me, I did not know why. I had nothing to support my feelings, or to rebuke his statement. This case of ignorance was not bliss!
Ignorance, I later found, was exactly the problem. I did have the answer in my head, as I had read my Bible, and it was in there. But, I did not have the understanding it took to bring Bible knowledge and life situation together. Remember, I had not yet had my first revelations of understanding, had not been to the place of deep prayer and seeking His wisdom. And the Bible says clearly, wisdom comes from God. So, now, let me jump ahead to exactly that time.
A time came when I found I had a great opportunity to sit back and do absolutely nothing! I was free to enjoy life for a change all by myself. What a deal. So, one of the things I decided to do, read a book. I didn’t read much, really. I was good at it, though not fast at all. I always had been greatly satisfied with what I got out of the reading, rather than how fast I could do it. That being said, I also knew that was not a true statement when it came to the Bible. Not at all. Now, I had read the Bible, or out of it, for years. I could read the words and even understand the short story on top but, I always knew there was an underneath, and I couldn’t see it! Talk about frustrating. And wouldn’t you know it, lying to the side of all the books I had to choose from, just roping my attention…. Well, ok, I may just have enough time to at least “say” all the words as my eyes pass over them.
So, I began, page one. Now, my interest in reading the Bible was genuine, but my earlier attempts had disillusioned any vision of success. But, here I was. I read for quite a while, happy with my progress, not with my comprehension. Again, I got the story, but knew as sure as I was breathing, there was MORE. Then, the answer came, right out of the Bible, imagine that. Don’t ask me where, but I came to a passage that said, in my words, “when you study your Bible, pray while you do it! Pray for God to give you the knowledge of His word and understanding for the attainment of wisdom, which only comes from Him.” Of course, I used the first person in my new-found prayer. The next thing that surprised me, and I said “I can’t believe I’m doing this”, was – I closed the Book, and started all over again.
I know that I’m getting rather lengthy in the personal side of this story, but I feel it important that you understand the background of my knowledge, opinions, feelings… So, I began to pray every few passages. I would read a short section over and over, pray and pray. The Lord began to open the pages to me as I had never even heard of. And that fact scared me. I’ll let you figure that one out. But, here I was, on my bed, having visions of what I was reading. To give you a clue as to how in tune I was, and that not of myself, I would stop reading, stare into the airspace in the center of the room and begin to imagine the characters there; acting out the scene I was studying. After a while I would catch myself, and come back to reality, knowing that I had let my imagination stray far from what was on the page. And, to my shock, I mean shock!, when I read on in the story, every word I read…I had already heard, right there in front of me in my room. When that happened, I felt compelled to pray all the more, and I did. I thanked Him profusely for what He was doing with me.
Anyway, that continued until I had read That Book, The Bible, no less than eight times! It took about two and half weeks. Think what you will, I was there. At least one time I read it thru with two other Bibles at the same time, to compare versions, side by side. (It’s KJV for me, by the way.) And now, finally, here it comes. During one day of revelational reading, I read the story, again, of Jeremiah:
Jeremiah 1:4 Then the word of the LORD came unto me, saying,
Jeremiah 1:5 Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.
I stopped, I prayed, I read again, “Before I formed thee in the belly” and as I said “I knew thee”, I saw that family in the lobby of the station, as clear as if I were there, again. I said those words to those kids, and right then I knew all I could do was hold on and watch.
“I knew you before you were formed in the belly, before you were in the womb. I didn’t form you out of the miry clay into the womb, I chose you from those in heaven with me, already formed of My Spirit, to be formed of the flesh! ‘Those children didn’t get to choose’? They most certainly did, they chose to answer My call from the throne, and I chose among them who should go forth as this child or that. I shall not burden them, or you, with a yoke too heavy.”
And that really was what I heard, and even more understanding followed. Out of that lesson, that true revelation of understanding, I was finally able to formulate that heart-felt, emotional and righteous stand that I would take on the subject of racial prejudice. When I was done, the Lord, in my mind, put me in front of that officer, once again.
Your right about them not choosing, but only partially. They chose to go whereever God would send them, and He chose who would go where, according to the work He wants accomplished. He knew you before you were in the womb, and He sent you to be the person you are. He didn’t MAKE you the person you are, he sent you to BE the person you are. They didn’t get to choose? What about you? You mean to tell me when the Lord called you in heaven, and you obviously answered, that you told Him, ‘Now, Lord, I’m going down as a white American male, middle class, or I’m not going!’ ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!! No, you did not. Oh, but lucky you! Must have been luck that brought you here, to that position, right? This same God also said He would never put a yoke on you that you could not carry. So, tell me, was it luck – that you weren’t a slave, was it luck – you weren’t a half-breed (your word)!? No, I think it was because YOU could not bear it! I think slavery was something that took a lot of greater men than you to get through, and get over!! Get over the racial issue in your head and get on with whatever it was He called you for, because in spite of all the deception Satan’s got you living in, YOU WERE CALLED! So, hey, step up to the plate.
One last note, for Josh and his friends; your subject was cloning. If a clone lives, God willed it so! Man will NEVER create a soul but, if there is life, God has called another soul, to come and BE that person. And, oh, how we should admire the strength of that one, to be chosen of God, to go through …whatever awaits him, even if it’s just a brief visit to planet earth. I suspect, if it ever happens, he may need all the strength God gives him. I will make clear my stance on the subject, it is absolutely wrong; no way, for no reason should we ever do it! But, this post isn’t about that, it’s about the soul; yours, mine and everyone you ever lay eyes on.
I hope you stop by for of my Lessons from God!. Thank you bery much.
Finally! A new post! Well, this past weekend, in our business,
there was a celebration we call FED. It celebrates the financial foundation of
our country, capitalism. It celebrates those that have embraced it, and
furthered it, by becoming business owners and empowering others to do the same.
And it celebrates freedom. Freedom to achieve. Freedom to live. Freedom to pass
on a legacy to our heirs and, not the least freedom, the freedom to recognize those
that have fought to keep our freedoms alive. And it’s called FREE ENTERPRISE
Every year, veterans are brought up on stage, their stories told,
their service recognized and their sacrifice honored. Honored with a standing
ovation of enthusiastic appreciation and cheer. Honored by the due recognition
of people who didn’t waste the freedom sacrificed for by the veterans, but
rather used it to further the well-standing of God, country and family. And
honored, by just letting them know that we are an organization of people who
haven’t forgotten them, or the price they have paid.
That’s only part of the story, of course. There are other veterans
here to recognize and celebrate. They are a different kind of warrior, but
freedom fighters all the same. These are the ones that have fought for their
families, and their achievements, in the living rooms of America. They carry
the scars that come when you force the truth out your relative – “No, we
don’t believe in you.” The pain of hypocrisy, “Hope you do well,
support you?, Oh, we couldn’t be involved in that.” But you, …you are
here to clearly, loudly, boldly and directly support these, the leaders in our
business. The ones that have gone forth and blazed the trail for you. There are
life stories told. Overcomings that rival anything holding you back. And every
emotion in the spectrum; felt, shared and treasured from now on. And, most of
all, your here for the celebration of all the achievement that really was
waiting on the other side of all those pains and perils and overcommings!
Free Enterprise Days fills the weekend. In fact, it is celebrated
over several weekends to accommodate all that wish to attend, but would be geographically
constrained. And it is the most awesome event I had ever attended when I went
to my first one. I call it an upper room experience! If you don’t get that,
hang around, you will. To be in a room to take part in something you’re already
excited about, and then to have it hit you all of a sudden, that everybody here
is doing exactly what you’re doing. Not like at a meeting, where you hope one
or two will sympathize with your cause, not looking over twenty or thirty
eyeballs to see who has the look of agreement. But, to look upon a crowed of
many thousands, no one in their seat, and to know they all agree with you,
there on your side, and your all there with one purpose and in one accord.
Every raised hand, every cheer, scream and clap is in support of you, and yours
for them. If you never have, then you simply never have. Do not miss the
opportunity to attend a Major Function. There all Great!!
In the town where I live the air is cool for the first time this year. On Sunday the mid 40’s are expected and that’s going to be cold. I can hardly wait. But , there is so much missing! I grew up in this small town. Back then it was always bustling with activity on the streets, and not just downtown. When it was cooler out, so were us kids. Every street a car drove down, so it seemed, the driving was slow and cautious. Not because there could be kids in the street, but because there were kids in the street. It frustrated us, just as bad as the drivers that had to wait, to have to stop our playing to let the cars go by.
And then there were the downtown shoppers. When we went with Grandma to buy groceries, we took the car. I don’t believe my grandma ever drove a car, which meant we took Grandpa. But, in the fall, before school, and then again before Christmas, we went shopping, downtown, walking. We carried bags forever, went to every shop, and then went back again. We were tired, our feet hurt and the shopping was a bit loud. All this because of our shoes. They were stiff leather, no matter the pattern, with hard leather soles. This made them loud because the shops all had wooden floors! Some of the downtown areas even had wooden sidewalks, and tennis shoes hadn’t come around, yet. So, we walked, and we clopped, and we didn’t wonder away from Grandma. She heard every clop we took.
The streets were full of people and the windows full of the new items for the season at hand. A song comes to mind with the most accurate description; “City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday cheer…”. Another one of those “take me back” Christmas songs that came out during this time, in 1963, was by Willie Nelson. He wrote the song about the season, the scene on the streets of this little town and, of course, how some people – are. The song was “Pretty Paper”. It was about a man who sat on the sidewalks downtown, with his crutches leaned on the wall behind him. He had pretty wrapping paper and pencils laid out around him. One of his pant legs was always rolled up neatly in front of him, as it was not occupied by a leg. A brisk shaking of a few coins in an old tin cup would turn the heads of the passers-by. When they turned to look, he would hold up his wrapping paper, or ribbon, or pencils. He made sure he wasn’t really asking for a handout, but offering a product to make a legitimate profit on. And, how small it was. This, of course, had been the scene for many years, before and after the song came out. I was much older, and had been singing the song for years, when I realized what, and who, it was all about.
Willie grew up in an even smaller town just down the road. He spent many a day in the shops along this one-legged mans’ path. He, of course was much older than I. Where I saw only the rattling cup, he saw the bigger picture, and understood what he saw. He wrote the song about the man’s efforts, his wares, his condition. But, he wrote it more about the people – who just …walked on by.
I remember clearly, several times, that my Aunt Brady, or Grandma, would give me a dime to go over and put it the mans’ cup. Sometimes I would ask for the dime, so I could put it in the cup and hear the rattle. I couldn’t really understand what was going on. I knew nothing about money, other than what it was. I just knew that the man smiled, said thank you, and rattled his cup even louder for me. I would smile back and walk away, and Grandma would send me back – to get the pencil, …but, …only sometimes.
Now, the streets are empty. No shoppers, no kids, and not at all the number of shops that were once open downtown. Grandmas’ house is gone, Aunt Brady’s house is gone, and the street play hasn’t been around for many years, not like it was. Even the memories are almost gone. This one, and others, only come when something jogs it out. But, thanks to Willie, when the music plays… I see the shop windows, and the shoppers, both dressed for the season. I feel the leather shoes on my feet and the weight of the bag I had to carry. I see the kids at play, all around, and hear the clop of hard soled shoes on the wooden floors of the downtown shops. And, because Grandma didn’t walk on by, I can see a thankful smile, …and hear the rattle of change, …in an old tin cup.
Don’t let the Bedbugs Bite!
A Family Story
When I was still very young, and learning the language of my “country folk” family, one of the phrases I heard a lot was “Sleep tight! …and don’t let the bed bugs bite!” For a small child, it’s an attention-getting phrase that served its purpose of putting thoughts of creepy crawly things into a young mind. My next thought was “Should I be scared? Is anybody else scared?!”, andI looked quickly to see the reaction of the others there. You somehow knew from the smile on Grandmas’ face that this was not cause for alarm. Over the first few weeks, months and years of hearing this every night – it came to be expected, and with it, certain actions by the family elder caring for you at the moment. So sure were many children of this that it often provided one of those rare occasions when the child could correct the adult for a minor wrong doing and not receive their own dose of correcting for doing so.
If one of my great aunts, for example, would pull the covers up over me and try to walk away with a simple “Goodnight.”, well – “Oh no, Aunt Ivy, I have to sleep tight to keep the bed bugs!” That’s what I said; I was learning to talk, after all. Of course, in the small space we were in, I didn’t have to repeat it. The few that were privy to the nightly ritual would step in and show them that tight meant tucking in the sheets on both sides of the mattress till they were tight, over me. This kept the bed bugs out …and me in, as falling out of bed had occurred, …several times.
It wasn’t till many years later, and many eaves dropped elder conversations between my Grandma and Aunt Brady or other of her sisters (Lottie, Lola, Ivy, and Vinnie, and Grandma was Dovie), that I learned this ritual was not spawned on me. In fact, the saying had started centuries ago, but I won’t go back quite that far. Let’s go back to the early pioneer days, about 1800’s. The beds then, if you had one, were usually grown on the farm. Did I say grown? Well, yes, grown. The mattress material for the outer cover was usually white with blue striped canvas or heavy denim, very stiff to the touch, very tightly woven, and for good reason. The part of the mattress that was “grown” was usually the straw from the field, remnants of the cotton harvest or, if you were very patient, the feathers from many months worth of chicken dinners. And as a very old song eludes to, it usually was “Grandma’s feather bed.”
Stuffing the bed with things from the farmstead made it a necessity to have that tight weave in your mattress cover. Why? Well, despite your best cleaning intentions, what do you suppose might have been crawling around in the cotton, hay and feathers? Among other things, there is a clue in the name of this hard, tightly woven material; it’s called “ticking”! Making sure the mattress remained sealed so the contents, ALL the contents, remained inside during a night of turning and snoring was only part of the story. There is more about the bed bugs, and the tight bed, but you may need a little information first.
Later on in the century, the mass production of metal works made for a new household furniture staple – the box springs. If you have a more modern bed you have under your bed – a box. You probably do not have box springs. They’re still around, but sort of rare, really. Back then, though, the box spring was not even a box, but rather a lot of large heavy gauge springs laid out in the shape of the mattress on top of them. They were tied together with wire to hold their place amongst each other. A metal frame, in the shape of this “box”, was welded around the outside and underneath so they/it could be supported by the bed railings. They were heavy. They squeaked. They were a great advancement in sleep comfort. And most of all, they made Grandmas’ feather bed the funnest place to play on the whole farm!
I wanted you to have that little bit of bed technology information in your mind as we get back to our story. As you can imagine, box springs don’t relay any kind of picture about the bed being – “tight”. But, the earlier beds, well, they didn’t have springs. Some did have wooden slats, which were simply a series of boards laid between the rails to hold up the mattress. But, boards, after a while, would sag, and once they did – you could find yourself awakening with a crash as you hit the floor underneath, and then sleeping in a hole you couldn’t get out of in the morning. The thought of just getting up to put the board back in place was overridden by “…and fall again?!” Not only that, if you had turned in the night because you ate a little too much super, the board could be broken. Either way, this could be very frustrating and expensive as the boards had to be replaced. Ah, but, there was another way. The mattresses of that day were very often laid on slats that were made of – rope. These were usually single size beds that had very stiff hardwood railings, having very little flex. Between the railings were several strands of a good strong rope. Like the boards, the ropes sagged, got loose and sometimes broke, but, not too often. Therefore, every night before you went you went to bed, you could increase the comfort of your bed simply tightening the ropes under your mattress! Each rope passed thru a set of holes in the side railings. A knot on the far end held the rope from pulling through. On the other end, you would pull the rope as tight as you could then wedge a wooden “stopper” in the hole with the rope to lock it in place!
“Sleep tight!” involved some work. But, being the common nightly action of many households, you knew if you heard that phrase that you could take it as blessing of comfort and safety. Safety? You see, the saying is “Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
Not only did you want your mattress sealed, but be it laid on boards or rope, you didn’t want it sagging. Because, even when your ropes were tight, you were never very far away from the bugs of the night crawling on the floor!
Good night, sleep tight…