As I have mentioned in some of my other stories, my grandfather was a sawmill man, and when I was a little bitty fella, my Dad worked for Grannyboy, as we grandchildren all called him. Naturally, my granddaddy owning the mill, and my Daddy working there, made it a routine thing for me to be down at the mill, which was, and still is, just behind the old Melrose plantation house where my granddaddy lived. There was a black man who worked for my granddaddy at the mill named Burdette, who was somewhat notorious. Being so young back then, I was a little in awe of him, as I heard the grown folks talking about him quite a bit. He was one of my granddaddy's best men at the mill, however, and Mister Tyler (that's what everybody but the grandchildren called him) seemed to set great stock in him.

Burdette killed another black man in a knife fight at a bootlegger's on a Friday night and got sent off to the penitentiary. The prison system was a lot different back in those days, however,and my granddaddy felt that he just couldn't do without Burdette at the mill, so he got in touch with the warden, told him his story, and brought Burdette home!

One day when I was about four or five, Burdette was going to Columbus, to Cowboy Glen's machine shop, to pick up or deliver some saws for sharpening, or some such chore for the mill, and I was allowed to go with him. Now think about that: a small child riding alone some twenty miles to Columbus and back with a convicted murderer! But no one thought anything of it; they knew Burdette wouldn't harm a white person, and especially Mr. Tyler's grandson. Everybody knew that if he killed anyone it would be a black person - no doubt about it. 

Even though I was very young at the time, I remember that trip well. My grandfather was like Henry Ford in that he liked his vehicles just about any color, as long as they were black. All of his automobiles were Fords, and they all were black. Down at the mill was an old Ford pickup truck which was used to run errands, like going to Cowboy Glen's, and, of course, it was black. I suppose the most impressive thing about that trip, to me, was that on the passenger side that old truck had no floorboard, and, with my little legs dangling over the edge of the seat, I could bend over and watch the pavement go by underneath the truck. And because the cab was thus open to the engine sounds, and there was no muffler, it was plenty loud in there. That was quite an excursion for a little boy!

Well, one day I heard my parents talking about Burdette. Seems he had killed his wife - I believe they were common law - in their house. There was quite a controversy over it, some folks thinking maybe Burdette wasn't the killer at all, but nevertheless, off Burdette went to the penitentiary again. And you guessed it: My grandfather went down to Kilby and brought Burdette home again. He was just too good a worker to have him wasting away sitting in prison. He was needed at the mill!

Anyway, if he hadn't been back home working for my granddaddy, he'd probably have ended up on a chain gang anyway, working for the State cutting the grass along the highways with a sling blade, or keeping the bushes and tree limbs cut back with a bush axe. I remember those chain gangs well, and I still think they were a good idea. I know if I got sent off I'd lots rather be swinging a bush axe and breathing fresh air than sitting in a prison cell all day long!

So Burdette came back and resumed his duties at the sawmill. He never did kill anyone else, though. I can't recall, but it seems to me that Burdette died relatively young, at least by present day standards. In other words, he didn't live to a "ripe old age". Still, he wasn't a young man either.

I met his mother years later, after he had died, and she was bemoaning the fact that she no longer had him about to help tend to her. She was in her nineties at the time, I believe, and she told me he was a good boy and took real good care of her. And knowing what I knew about Burdette, I didn't doubt it a bit! He was a real hard worker, and it just stands to reason he'd take good care of his Mama.  
  

Copyright May 26th, 2008, by Tom Woodard

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