“Camilla and I grew up on the same street in Daphne and went to the same church and school. 

When we met, I was 12, and she was 14 and a half. She was a pretty blonde girl, but girls don’t have much to do with boys who are that much younger. Our love affair got off to a strange start when she was a senior, and I was a sophomore. She started staying later to practice typing and asked me to carry her books home for her. I’d leave them on the front porch. There was no contact. 

We both attended Fairhope High School at Church Street in downtown Fairhope; I graduated in 1953 with 68 in my class. Kids from Spanish Fort, Daphne, Fairhope, and Barnwell all went there.  We were country kids coming to town. Main Street was the only paved street in Daphne; the county roads were unpaved.

Camilla dated a college guy the summer after she graduated from high school. Her cousin, Patsy, stayed with her for a couple of weeks every summer. We all grew up going to the bay. One afternoon, I was cleaning the yard when Camilla and Patsy walked by. Camilla asked if I would go on a double date with Patsy. Friday and Saturday nights were date nights, and Camilla’s mama wanted Patsy to go along–that’s why they asked me. We went to a movie and the A&W Root Beer stand in Fairhope. I needed to get back early because I had work the next day. The next night, we went to a movie in Mobile. The next weekend, the same thing.

We all went to the pier in Daphne after church on Sunday. Camilla picked up an abandoned crab line and tied it around my big toe. When her sister said it was time to go home and get ready for church that night, Camilla said, ’Let’s go.’ I followed her home with the string tied around my toe. She fried bacon and made me a BLT sandwich. We walked home together after church–it was convenient to hold her hand. She had me come in for cookies. When I left, she told me to come back soon. I went there the next night. We sat pretty close on the porch swing. I kissed her, then asked what she would tell her boyfriend. She said, “I already told him.” That started four years of courting. I was 17; she was 19 and a half. 

We were going to have a church wedding with all the bells and whistles. I was 21; she was 23 and a half. Her daddy was sick with multiple myeloma, a rare blood cancer, and it got worse the week before our wedding. A hospital in New Orleans was the only one that could accept him. He took a turn for the worse, and Camilla canceled everything: the church, the reception, the tux rental. I was working out of town and headed to New Orleans. Camilla said she couldn’t go through the wedding planning again. We called our families and then married at Camilla’s parents’ home in Daphne. We had our wedding supper at Angelo’s Italian in Gulfport and spent our wedding night on the Gulf Coast. Her daddy died on the Tuesday after we married. 

Camilla and I were married for 67 years and had four daughters. We sold our home that we lived in for 54 years and moved into an assisted living home. Camilla died a year ago–only a few months after we moved. Being here made the adjustment after her death somewhat easier, but it’s not easy. 

Camilla was a beautiful woman. She was 91 when she died and still beautiful. The older she got, the prettier she got.”

Bill

More family stories

“My grandmother was a German immigrant and thought Adolf Hitler was the greatest thing to ever live. She came to New York to be a governess for a very wealthy family. When she got to New York, the man who hired her had died. She was already an accomplished musician at 17 and had to make a living from her talent. She could play any instrument well enough to teach it. She and my grandfather were in vaudeville, but he died when my father was five. She became an organ player and traveled with silent films. She also raised four sons and a grandson and paid for her kids to live in the Catholic children’s home when she was gone. She would rent a house when she was home, and they lived with her. When my grandmother got older, she lived with us a lot. She had all of the instruments and wanted to teach us how to play them, but Mama didn’t make us. I regret missing that opportunity.

My dad worked for himself painting signs and boats when he was 14. He also had a dance band called the Playmates. He quit in 1938 when my little brother was born. Raising a family wasn’t compatible with playing in a beer joint. My father and both of my grandfathers died young. I got cheated out of having those men in my life. My kids did, too. Now, I get to be a father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. My grandkids call me “Pooh Paw.”

One of my first jobs was delivering produce before I got my driver’s license. Nobody cared. Then, I worked for Fairhope Azalea Brand Groceries. They bottled milk and made the best ice cream in the world. I made 67 cents an hour; that was a lot for a 16-year-old kid. I worked all day, sometimes 50 hours a week.I was also a boat operator for a towing company; I was seventeen with six grown men working under me. I was too young to have that responsibility. I was planning to go to junior college in Perkinston, MS, and play football, but I was making more money than anyone I knew. I never made it to college, but I worked with the same company for 34 years. I moved up and became the assistant vice president of operations. I traveled all over the southern half of the U.S.”