A Novel Name

They were older soldiers, Southern farm boys already in their thirties. Within three days of each other, they enlisted at Camp Shelby, their futures fractured by conflict. Maybe they met immediately and sensed a comradeship that gave them comfort as they faced unfamiliar trials and eventually, terror.

Reading his enlistment document, I learned of a 1907 birth date, an unknown first name (Nathaniel) and that he'd graduated from high school. Personal particulars included his height (70") and weight (137 pounds.) A scrawny serviceman no amount of rations could make plump.

His new buddy was a bit younger, having been born in 1910. His education had ceased after two years of high school when full-time work life commenced at a commercial laundry in his hometown. Despite regular physical labor, this 67" tall man weighed 175 pounds according to his enlistment papers.



It's March 1942 and maybe the two men wondered, just for a moment, if they'd survive the Army's arduous basic training. After an additional stint at Camp Polk, Louisiana, the twosome is sent to the Desert Training Center in southeastern California. Living in tents, coping with scorpions, and enduring nearly unyielding heat, they prepare for the African campaign.

By the time the men are ready, Rommel has been routed and no more American soldiers are needed in north Africa. The younger man is sent to Georgia and eventually to France. His buddy's military journey is not known. What is important is that somehow both soldiers survived horrific experiences and returned home safely.

The younger man was my daddy. He was a person who communicated quietly, worked an excessive number of hours every week despite his service-related injuries, and never ever complained about anything. From an early age, I knew that the war was not a topic to be discussed. Rather, Daddy chose to focus on the friendship he'd enjoyed with the gangly Alabama native.

A few years after the war ended, with my brother and I having been born, trips to visit Daddy's good friend became part of our family's schedule. Often we'd stop by his house on our way back from visiting my mother's people in Georgia. It was only natural to address our host as 'Uncle' and his delightful mother as 'Aunt.'


I love the sound of his name. It's almost as if it were created by an author seeking to define a hero character for a short story or novel. Perhaps William Faulkner or Tennessee Williams could have incorporated the name into their works. Maybe even Eudora Welty. His unique middle name must have originated somewhere in his ancestry. Combining it with his surname created a perfect amalgam. Dupree Bibb, aka 'Uncle Pree.'

The Bibb family home stood on a small rise in the countryside outside Aliceville, Alabama in the western part of the state. The house itself was not new but almost surely post-ante-bellum. Possibly built in the 1890's or early 20th century, its small porch was topped by a balcony, festooned with decorative woodwork.



Inside, a wide hall provided room for a staircase ascending to the second floor. To the left, a parlor, never used during our visits. On the right, a bedroom occupied by a maiden aunt whose name might have been Florence. Walking through the central hallway, a formal dining room was situated to the left. A long screened-in back porch offered respite from the summer sun and a grand space in which to play. An old cistern was enclosed at the end of the porch, providing cool, clear water for drinking and household uses.

The heart of the house was the spacious kitchen. The stove might have been wood-fired and most certainly it was in constant use. A large wood table with six or so chairs commanded the center of the room. I recall a calendar with Norman Rockwell prints heralding each month.

From the busy stove, Aunt Hattie produced the most delectable biscuits ever eaten and divine Lemon Icebox Pie. I'm certain that my young self showed no restraint and ate far too many of these treats.



Uncle Pree was a 'Watkins' man. He sold the company's products from his pick-up truck, traveling country roads to reach his isolated customers. The Watkins line included vanilla extract, vitamins, and other products that any family might want or need.

He was also a quiet man whose frame remained nearly gaunt. With no children of his own, Uncle Pree delighted in our visits. We always felt like family.



Did the two former soldiers talk about their Army days? It's likely that they did not for they belonged to a generation who saw their service as a duty. Once completed, it necessitated no further discussion.

I last visited the Bibb household as a college freshman. The hospitality I enjoyed in that setting remains with me today.

Recently, I searched Ancestry.com for additional information about Dupree Bibb. Amazingly, I discovered someone whose great-grandfather was a sibling of Aunt Hattie's. The Bibbs were included in her posted family tree. There was also an infant's photo which is identified as possibly being Dupree himself.



Energized, I contacted the family tree's owner and explained my connection to her relative. Shortly thereafter, I received an enthusiastic e-mail from Peggy. Apparently intrigued by my story, she shared her own memories of Aunt Hattie. I responded with several historic photos which her sister will show to their 85 year old father.

As I am writing these words, I believe that Daddy's spirit is pleased that I remember his best Army buddy with great affection almost seventy years after their Camp Shelby days.