BROKEN
Kid’s of the Warrior Caste
Chapter 1
I was born into a good, old family with deep roots in Mississippi. My father was
a veteran of WW II in Europe and Korea. My mother was a teacher. From my very
earliest memories the values of parents were instilled in me: God, family and
country. I am quite proud of my parents. Proud of who we are and where we came
from. I very much wanted to please them.
I was always just a little gun-shy of my Dad. His time in the wars had taken its
toll on him. The war had left him a touch deaf and in hindsight it easy to tell
that he suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. He was always very loud
which was intimidating. He also had an unpredictable temper. Once when I was
very young, he was napping on the couch having a nightmare. Seeing him in
distress, I wanted to wake him up and make it go away. When I did, for a split
second he was still fighting North Korean infiltrators in some dark place. He
slammed me to the floor- pulling up just short of landing what would have easily
been a lethal blow.
He was a good Dad for the most part- but older than most of my peers dads. We
did all of the things Southern dads and sons do- hunting, fishing, and
Mississippi State football games. I loved to help Pop work on our cars and
trucks and had a natural gift for it. I just knew better than to get on his bad
side which was sometimes painfully unavoidable. His hearing problems made it
difficult to communicate with him, as he was prone to misunderstand. I might
say, “I’m going to take a nap”. He might hear, “Oh Pop, you’re full of crap.”
A dirty little secret of Southern culture is that Southern men are all mammas’
boys. If you’re not, then you just haven’t had a Southern mother and that’s a
pity. Mine was great. She was one of the first women in her family to be college
educated and was smart as a whip. She was a great teacher of reading and taught
first grade for 35 years before she retired. My fondest memories of her were
reading to me in the garden. That was her greatest trick of teaching reading.
She read good stories then she would feign tiring out which would force you to
continue on your own. I was reading well before kindergarten.
My Dad was the Captain of our house but my Mom was his good Executive Officer.
She always had things ship shape and made sure they stayed that way. There was a
routine in place as efficient as any train service. Wake up at 0600, Breakfast
at 0625, bus at 0700... Before bed she would read me a story and then I had to
read a few bible verses to her. Every Sunday we went to Church where I would get
my ear pinched good and proper if I dared any nonsense. Then we would race home
for Sunday dinner and pro football with my Dad.
Our family was spread out all over the state. My maternal Grandmother’s family
came from Greenville where she insisted on staying despite her advanced age. Her
other children were spread out all over the country with my Mom being the
closest. We would drive up to see her a couple of times a month.
My father’s family came from South Mississippi- Smith County with branches on
the coast. Originally settling in Smith County in the late 1700s, the Savik
family and the family name was ancient. Norman-French in origin by way of the
Danelaw, the family won its renown standing with King Henry and his merry band
of brothers at a place in the French country side called Agincourt. The family
crest is red with the lions of Henry. The martial tradition had been in the
family for going on for over 600 years. A proud, old family steeped in
traditions, which expected and demanded much of its sons.
My father’s uncles were my heroes. James, my namesake, had been a marine during
WWII in the Pacific. He was a great hunter and fisherman. Every summer my Dad
and I would go down to the coast and go out shrimping with him.
Uncle Richard was retired from the Air Force and lived in Gulfport. He had
started out as a 17 year old recruit in 1942 in the original Army Air Corp. He
stayed in when the Air Force became its own branch and retired after 30 years a
full bird Colonel. He was smart, well traveled and articulate. I used to love to
listen to his stories for hours.
Uncle Edward had road with Patton in 1944. He brought home a Silver Star from
the Battle of the Bulge. He had a water melon farm in Smith County.
My Dad had gone to West Point and retired from the army before I was born. All
three of the brothers were college educated. That was rare for Mississippi in
those days. These are the titans in whose shadow I grew up.
As is the way with my family, the boys grow very big. I was no exception. By the
time I was five, I was as big as the first graders and already reading.
Kindergarten was wasted on me so it was decided that I would start school a year
early. Thankfully not at my Mom’s school- a kid needs to be able to get away
with a few things.
The only thing that bugged me was that I did not have any brothers or sisters at
home. I had an older brother but he had been away at college and then at his
career in Texas and I didn’t get to see him that much. My neighborhood friends
told me that I was lucky but I didn’t see it that way. I would see my friends
being mean to their little brothers and sisters and scold them for it much to
their amazement.
I was an odd age for my neighborhood. All of the other boys were year or so
older, and a little mean, so no one close by was in my same grade. It wasn’t
until a year later that a boy in my grade moved in across the street. I was
delighted.
Southern hospitality demands that when you have new neighbors that you should
introduce yourselves. My Mom made a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of turkey
sandwiches and the three of us went over to say hello.
Mr. Michael’s was a tall, slender man who was sweating up a storm moving
furniture into their new home that August day. He smiled when he saw us walking
up. He stopped working, wiped the sweat out of his eyes and said, “How ya’ll
doing. I’m Beau Michael’s.”
My Dad walked up to him shook his hand, “Just fine new neighbor. I’m John Savik;
this is my wife Emmaline and my boy Jimmy. Could we give you a hand?”
Mr. Michael’s grin widened, “I’d sure appreciate it. I think we picked the
hottest day of the year to do the most work. Come on inside and meet my wife and
son.”
We went into the kitchen through the garage. Our new neighbors were well
underway in the moving in process. Mrs. Michael’s looked up from a box of
glasses and saw my Mom with a platter of lemonade and sandwiches.
Mr. Michael’s said, “Miriam, meet our new neighbors- the Saviks. Where’s Scott?”
She laughed, “You know how shy he is. Scotty, come in here and meet our new
neighbors.”
Scotty entered the room hesitantly. When I first laid eyes on him I though that
he was much younger than me. He was a head shorter than me.”
I asked, “What grade are you in Scotty?” while our Moms poured glasses of
lemonade and handed out sandwiches.
“Second.”, he replied softly, trying to decide if this giant kid in his kitchen
was friendly.
“Cool. I’m in second. We can walk to school together.”
Mr. Michael’s asked me, “Jimmy, why don’t you show Scotty around the
neighborhood after we have a sandwich?”
I nodded eagerly but Scotty looked a little skeptical. When we were done with
sandwiches, the parents shooed us out the door to get us out from underfoot
while they got down to serious work. His Mom told us to be back before dark.
Scotty asked, “Where are we going.”
“This is my house..”, which was right across the street, “and right behind my
yard is Deer Creek.”
We walked over to the little bluff overlooking the creek that was just a little
trickle that time of year.
Scotty asked, “Any fish in it?”
“Naw. There’s a pond about a mile back in the woods though.”
The old growth oak and pine forest behind our suburbs was a favorite playground
for the local kids. The ancient trees were home to many tree houses and Scotty
looked at the Spanish moss draped canopy of the woods and said, “It looks a
little spooky.”
“It’s cool. We’ve all got forts out there and there’s bike trails all over.”
Scotty looked up at me. “We won’t get lost?”
“No way.”
He smiled and replied, “OK. Let’s go.”
We walked down a well-worn bike trail along Deer Creek that lead up to the main
paths into the woods. I asked. “Where did you live before?”
“Tupelo. It was fun there. My Uncle Rich and cousins live there.”
“What did you do there?”
“Mostly play with my cousins. They got dirt bikes and BB guns.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. My cousin Ray has a Mustang that goes a thousand miles ‘n hour!”
“They’re tough...”
We passed the rest of the afternoon exploring the woods as far back as Clark’s
pond. I showed Scotty where Dear Creek and Cainey Creek came together in a muddy
swirl, the main bike trails and the red sand dunes. We talked about weighty
matters like bikes, Star Trek and comic books.
I’m not sure where and when it happened but Scotty decided that he liked me and
I liked the idea of not being the only second grader on the block.