The Family Heirloom

William Charles Harris received Nadine, a vintage acoustic guitar a cherished family heirloom when he turned twenty one years old. His father Raymond was given the guitar by his father Melvin and it has been passed down from generation to generation to every male child when he became a man. Nadine belonged to William's great great grandfather Atticus Theodore Harris. Atticus was a local blues man that played at juke houses in the bottoms of Mississippi where most of the African American people lived in the 1920's. Juke houses were a big weekend event for black people back then. It was a place where they could hangout, listening to good music, dance, eat and drink home made moonshine. Atticus was married to Lucinda Ann Mills when they wore both nineteen years old. They had seven children together before Atticus decided that he would rather pursue his dreams of being a blues guitar player. Atticus was a ladies man and his got him in a lot of fights at the juke house. He was thrown out a few times but because he was so good with that dang guitar, that they kept inviting him back. One cold December night, it had started to snow for the first time in Batesville. Atticus just sat down at a table and was brought a bottle of moonshine from Mr. Barton the owner. A lady named Patricia Graham came over and took a seat right on top of Atticus's lap.

“Is this seat taken?” asked Patricia.

“It is now,” said Atticus laughing. Patricia had a crush on old Atticus but failed to tell him that she was married to Big Joe Graham. Big Joe stood six feet nine inches and weighed close to four hundred pounds. Patricia knowing that her husband was a jealous man liked seeing him fighting over her. Some women just enjoyed causing turmoil wherever they went and this was Patricia in a nut shell. She wasn't the prettiest woman in town, but men liked her because of her reputation of being harlot. Atticus and Big Joe got to fighting that night at the juke joint. The fight was quickly broken up by the bar owner. Joe grab Patricia by her hand and carried her out of the juke house kicking and screaming.

“Let me go!” exclaimed Patricia. “You son of a bitch, let me go!”

“You go no where but home!” screamed Joe. “Got damn Jezebel.”

Atticus hung around the juke house until Mr. Barton closed up for the night. He was bumping into tables and chairs drunk as a skunk.

“Atticus,” said Mr. Barton. “Let me drive you home man.”

“I'm alright,” said Atticus. “I'll just go up here under the bridge and sleep it off.”

“Man it snowing out there,” said Mr. Barton. “You need to get out of this weather now.”

“I be alright now,” said Atticus. “Just leave me be.”

“Alright then,” said Mr. Barton. “Be careful out here.”

Mr. Barton got into his teal green Harvester and drove away. Atticus still stumbling went under the bridge and sat down. He placed Nadine his guitar by his side and passed out drunk.

The next morning two men going fishing came across Atticus still laying under the bridge. They both started laughing because everyone knew this was something Atticus did every Saturday night. He would get wasted and go sleep I off under the old bridge.

“Is that you Atticus Harris!” shouted Bobo laughing. 'You better get your ass up before the ants bit you in your ass!”

'You hear us Atticus!” said Reno. “Let's turn his black ass over!”

The two men flipped Atticus over and they both jumped at what they had seen.

“He dead man!” shouted Reno. “Somebody done slit his throat wide open.”

Both men ran off to Dr. Blake's house. Back in those days African American people had their own doctors and midwives to deliver their children. Dr. Blake got his doctors bag and followed the men to where Atticus body was under the bridge.

Dr. Blake took a look at Atticus body and shook his head. There was blood everywhere. Nadine the guitar had blood all over it. The three men picked up Atticus's body placing it in the back of Dr. Blake's truck and took it to the under taker Mr. Wilson.

“Should we call the police?” asked Bobo looking up at Dr. Blake. “They might think we did this.” said Reno.

“The police don't care son,” said Dr. Blake. “A dead black man is just like a dead dog on the side of the road..”

“Somebody go tell his mama,” said Mr. Wilson. “This is a low down shame.”

“I'll tell Mrs. Mary," said Dr. Blake.

Atticus didn't have a penny to his name when he died. Nadine was the only thing he had that was the only thing he had of value.

Atticus's mother cleaned the guitar off as best as she could. It was still stained with his blood. Atticus and his wife Lucinda had seven children. The last child being a boy named James Earl, the guitar was given to him when he turned eighteen years old. Since that time the guitar was passed through the generation to male children. When William's grandmother told him the story as a boy, it made him cry.

“Why nobody called the police grandma?” asked young William.

“Back then son,” said Joyce. “The police didn't bother to really find out who killed someone if they were black.

“That's not right,” said young William. “Did they know who killed grandfather?'

“Nobody really knew,” said Joyce. “Some people expected big Joe Graham killed him.”

“How come?” asked young William.

“Jealousy I guess honey,” said Joyce. “It was just a rumor.”

“Why the guitar named Nadine?” asks young William.

“Nadine was your great grandfather's first love,” said Joyce. “Not even his current wife Lucinda knew that.

William, now a grown man, had Nadine put into a glass case. The vintage spruce top wood is still stained with is great grandfather's blood along the center of it's mahogany side wood. When William has a son, it will be passed along to him and every generation of Harris men for years to come.