I have painted Zeke as a mighty warrior, a vicious dog; yet, he was a gentle giant.
Sure, he could whip anything that walked on four legs; to this statement, I am an
eyewitness many times over. However, Zeke was not a ferrous attacker like the pit
bulldogs or rottweilers that occasionally make feature story headlines in the
newspapers of today. No, Zeke was not an attacker but merely a defender. Never, not
once, did Zeke ever bite the two-legged animals (man) of the world.
In fact, when someone drove up into our front yard, Zeke became a Wal-Mart greeter.
He came out of the shrubbery and studied the guest intently. Zeke had a sixth sense
about people. Once the visitors rolled their car windows down and spoke or once they
exited their car, Zeke mentally categorized them as friend or foe. If friend, Zeke
simply went back into the shrubbery or disappeared under the house; if foe, he stood
his ground, never growling, never barking, but intently guarding his own domain.
When Zeke perked his ears up, stood his short, chopped bulldog tail up, tensed that
ninety-five pound body, threw that huge, white-streaked chest out and stared intently
through those big, brown eyes with those bulldog jaws, first time visitors did think
twice about leaving their car. Such a thought went through first time visitor, Lacy
McLean.
Lacy was a lost seventeenth century link long before Alex Haley ever wrote his
bestseller, Roots. My Grandpa Scott McDonald was a genealogical genius. He knew
the history of many families in Richmond County. My uncles, Leonard McDonald
and Carl McDonald, along with Cousin Ernest McDonald discovered in their
McDonald Family Genealogy research that after settling in North Carolina, some of
the McDonald ancestors moved deeper south. The McDonalds were able to pinpoint
a settlement destination in Alabama. Grandpa Scott wrote a letter to the Clarke
County Sheriff of Alabama looking for clues in the lost ancestor search. Fortunately,
as fate would have it, the sheriff himself was a distant cousin. Hastily, the previously
mentioned North Carolina clan along with Bill Ussery, father to Martha (RHS ' 5?),
Pete ( RHS ' 61), Robert Lee a.k.a. "Pistol" (RHS ' 62), Phyllis (RHS ' 64), Joe (RHS '
66), Ed (RHS ' 69), Mike (RHS ' 69), Jimmy (RSHS ' ??), Nancy (RSHS ' ??), and
Henry a.k.a. "Bo" (RSHS ' ??) made an exodus to Alabama for a reunion. One of the
newly discovered kin was Lacy McLean.
Lacy was a successful farmer and businessman revered by his family and community
as a wise and respected counsel deeply rooted in his love of family and friendships. It
was little wonder that Lacy and my Grandpa Scott bonded instantly since their
characteristics and traits almost mirrored each other. As best as I remember, Lacy
and Grandpa were born in the same month; they were the same age. For this reason,
Grandpa invited Lacy to come to Rockingham to celebrate their birthdays along with
my Grandma Elton, born also in that month, and the entire McDonald clan. The
event evolved into an annual family reunion that kept Lacy in close contact with us.
Lacy drove up from Alabama and spent an entire month visiting the whole clan; he
repeated this Mecca every summer, even after Grandpa Scott's death. Once you met
Lacy, you felt like you had known him your entire life, no matter your age. Upon
Lacy's latter death, the entire community mourned for a true Southern statesman and
gentleman.
Lacy loved life! Lacy should have acquired a patent on his laughter, speech, and
persona. If only he had, he could have sued Warner Brothers for millions. Lacy was
Foghorn Leghorn long before Foghorn Leghorn was Foghorn Leghorn. If only one
closed his eyes, he would swear Foghorn Leghorn was standing in front of him. The
reiterating phrases of sentences and the deep-down belly laugh of knee-slap humor
from Lacy had to be the inspiration for Foghorn. It was certain that Lacy did not
imitate Foghorn. After all, Lacy was born many years before Warner Brothers created
this larger-than-life rooster.
I will never forget Lacy's first visit to our home in McDonald Community. Uncle
Leonard rolled into our yard in his old Ford station wagon with our Alabama cousin
riding shotgun. As Zeke typically did when a strange car pulled into the yard, he came
out from under the front shrubbery and stood in his watchful surveillance mode
staring at the occupants. Meanwhile, Lacy rolled his shotgun window down, and from
behind the steering wheel, Uncle Leonard shouted, "Hey boys, is your daddy home?"
"Yes sir," my brother Gary answered." He's in the chicken house. Get out and we will
walk back." Lacy, without saying a word, simply pointed to Zeke who stood in the
background, ten yards behind my brothers and me.
"Don't worry, Lacy," I said. "Zeke can whip anything that walks on four legs, but he
has never bitten anyone."
"I say, I say son. I'm not worried about him biting me. I have been bitten before,"
Lacy stated in his Foghorn dialect. "That dog, I say that dog is the biggest bulldog, I
say the biggest bulldog, I have ever seen! What I really want to know, I say what I
really want to know is will he, son, tell me son will he, I say, WILL HE KICK?" A
belly-roll laughter from deep down within shook Uncle Leonard's station wagon as
Lacy opened the car door and stepped out.
With Lacy's visit, Zeke's reputation grew into an interstate legend. From that day
forward, we McDonald brothers looked fondly forward to Cousin Lacy's annual return
summer visits. Each summer Lacy never failed to ask about Zeke. His one lingering
question was "Tell me boys, I say tell me boys, has Zeke, I say, has Zeke kicked
anyone yet?" Daddy, my brothers, and I now have the Lacy belly-roll laugh every time
we think of this precious childhood memory of growing up in Rockingham, North
Carolina - a small textile town in the South in the ' 50s & ' 60s.
To be continued ...
Sure, he could whip anything that walked on four legs; to this statement, I am an
eyewitness many times over. However, Zeke was not a ferrous attacker like the pit
bulldogs or rottweilers that occasionally make feature story headlines in the
newspapers of today. No, Zeke was not an attacker but merely a defender. Never, not
once, did Zeke ever bite the two-legged animals (man) of the world.
In fact, when someone drove up into our front yard, Zeke became a Wal-Mart greeter.
He came out of the shrubbery and studied the guest intently. Zeke had a sixth sense
about people. Once the visitors rolled their car windows down and spoke or once they
exited their car, Zeke mentally categorized them as friend or foe. If friend, Zeke
simply went back into the shrubbery or disappeared under the house; if foe, he stood
his ground, never growling, never barking, but intently guarding his own domain.
When Zeke perked his ears up, stood his short, chopped bulldog tail up, tensed that
ninety-five pound body, threw that huge, white-streaked chest out and stared intently
through those big, brown eyes with those bulldog jaws, first time visitors did think
twice about leaving their car. Such a thought went through first time visitor, Lacy
McLean.
Lacy was a lost seventeenth century link long before Alex Haley ever wrote his
bestseller, Roots. My Grandpa Scott McDonald was a genealogical genius. He knew
the history of many families in Richmond County. My uncles, Leonard McDonald
and Carl McDonald, along with Cousin Ernest McDonald discovered in their
McDonald Family Genealogy research that after settling in North Carolina, some of
the McDonald ancestors moved deeper south. The McDonalds were able to pinpoint
a settlement destination in Alabama. Grandpa Scott wrote a letter to the Clarke
County Sheriff of Alabama looking for clues in the lost ancestor search. Fortunately,
as fate would have it, the sheriff himself was a distant cousin. Hastily, the previously
mentioned North Carolina clan along with Bill Ussery, father to Martha (RHS ' 5?),
Pete ( RHS ' 61), Robert Lee a.k.a. "Pistol" (RHS ' 62), Phyllis (RHS ' 64), Joe (RHS '
66), Ed (RHS ' 69), Mike (RHS ' 69), Jimmy (RSHS ' ??), Nancy (RSHS ' ??), and
Henry a.k.a. "Bo" (RSHS ' ??) made an exodus to Alabama for a reunion. One of the
newly discovered kin was Lacy McLean.
Lacy was a successful farmer and businessman revered by his family and community
as a wise and respected counsel deeply rooted in his love of family and friendships. It
was little wonder that Lacy and my Grandpa Scott bonded instantly since their
characteristics and traits almost mirrored each other. As best as I remember, Lacy
and Grandpa were born in the same month; they were the same age. For this reason,
Grandpa invited Lacy to come to Rockingham to celebrate their birthdays along with
my Grandma Elton, born also in that month, and the entire McDonald clan. The
event evolved into an annual family reunion that kept Lacy in close contact with us.
Lacy drove up from Alabama and spent an entire month visiting the whole clan; he
repeated this Mecca every summer, even after Grandpa Scott's death. Once you met
Lacy, you felt like you had known him your entire life, no matter your age. Upon
Lacy's latter death, the entire community mourned for a true Southern statesman and
gentleman.
Lacy loved life! Lacy should have acquired a patent on his laughter, speech, and
persona. If only he had, he could have sued Warner Brothers for millions. Lacy was
Foghorn Leghorn long before Foghorn Leghorn was Foghorn Leghorn. If only one
closed his eyes, he would swear Foghorn Leghorn was standing in front of him. The
reiterating phrases of sentences and the deep-down belly laugh of knee-slap humor
from Lacy had to be the inspiration for Foghorn. It was certain that Lacy did not
imitate Foghorn. After all, Lacy was born many years before Warner Brothers created
this larger-than-life rooster.
I will never forget Lacy's first visit to our home in McDonald Community. Uncle
Leonard rolled into our yard in his old Ford station wagon with our Alabama cousin
riding shotgun. As Zeke typically did when a strange car pulled into the yard, he came
out from under the front shrubbery and stood in his watchful surveillance mode
staring at the occupants. Meanwhile, Lacy rolled his shotgun window down, and from
behind the steering wheel, Uncle Leonard shouted, "Hey boys, is your daddy home?"
"Yes sir," my brother Gary answered." He's in the chicken house. Get out and we will
walk back." Lacy, without saying a word, simply pointed to Zeke who stood in the
background, ten yards behind my brothers and me.
"Don't worry, Lacy," I said. "Zeke can whip anything that walks on four legs, but he
has never bitten anyone."
"I say, I say son. I'm not worried about him biting me. I have been bitten before,"
Lacy stated in his Foghorn dialect. "That dog, I say that dog is the biggest bulldog, I
say the biggest bulldog, I have ever seen! What I really want to know, I say what I
really want to know is will he, son, tell me son will he, I say, WILL HE KICK?" A
belly-roll laughter from deep down within shook Uncle Leonard's station wagon as
Lacy opened the car door and stepped out.
With Lacy's visit, Zeke's reputation grew into an interstate legend. From that day
forward, we McDonald brothers looked fondly forward to Cousin Lacy's annual return
summer visits. Each summer Lacy never failed to ask about Zeke. His one lingering
question was "Tell me boys, I say tell me boys, has Zeke, I say, has Zeke kicked
anyone yet?" Daddy, my brothers, and I now have the Lacy belly-roll laugh every time
we think of this precious childhood memory of growing up in Rockingham, North
Carolina - a small textile town in the South in the ' 50s & ' 60s.
To be continued ...
| Chapter 10 Will He Kick? written by Bob McDonald |
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