The Truth About Samson

Samson, Alabama, population 2000. The shocking carnage created by a lunatic with a grudge and a gun has put Samson in the national headlines. Samson is LouLou’s home and I know the place well.

Farm land, pecan trees, broad front porches, pick-up trucks, John Deere tractors, two stoplights. Mama Frankie’s (my great-grandmother) grand home is now occupied by cousins. I’m so happy they care for the grand-old-lady of a house. I know the good hiding places within those walls; there are lots of nooks where small children fit.

Daddy Dykes (my grandfather) owned the hardware store on Main St. A dim place with the smell of nails and tools and dusty hardwood floors. There used to be a glass case by the cash register with penny candy in it. Fireballs, bubble gum, sixlets, jawbreakers and peanut logs. I could pack a lot of delight into a little brown paper bag.

LouLou’s house was walking distance to her church. She moved just 5 years ago – she walked to church until she was about 97. My mom & dad married in this little church. LouLou helped restore the bell and have it mounted in the church’s front yard. Whenever we came to visit she would take us to ring the bell. Sundays, weddings and LouLou’s grandchildren’s arrival were heralded by the resonant ringing. (Photo circa 1986)LouLou’s brother was a major peanut grower and now his son holds the reins of the many farm enterprises. Our oldest child carries the Brooks name as it means love and family to us.

Traveler’s Rest is the cemetery where many stories have been recounted beside the monuments of those who’ve gone before us. My daddy’s marker is there. And I suppose one day I’ll rest there too.

All of these memories were made on Main Street, Samson, Alabama. I am compelled to
“Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.” ~Romans 12:9

So now you know some good about Samson.