When I speak of going home I do not visualize heaven with streets of gold, or dream of holy concerts;  I have no desire to be part of an orchestra of myriads of angels strumming celestial harps, standing before the  magnificently brilliant throne of God.

Looking back and forward

My aspirations  are more earthly.

Like the mythical two faced Janus, I see myself standing  — looking backward at what has been, at the same time gazing  forward,   recognizing the reality of what will be, finding  joy and satisfaction in what I see.

Interestingly, both faces are bearded; there is enough wisdom to appreciate the past, yet it couples with  experience;  I can face the future with confidence.

Children of my era,1940′s  -  1950′s, in the deep south were label  “”underpriviledged ones” because of the economic status of the  families.

I smile, as I remember listening to, and reading reports, discussing the “underpriviledged ones” and the struggle for a meaningful existence that is  their daily life.    My heart ached for these poor kids.   Years later,  I realize it is me, the reports chronicle.

The home where I grew up

My dad finished the eighth grade at Emory, a little country school that I would later attend. He and my Mother, who finished one year at Berry College in Rome, Georgia were parents to five children by the time she was was 27 years old and he was 34 years of age.

Farming provided income for a time;  the Savannah River Bomb Plant  improved the family fortune until 1950; then he would become involved in all phases of construction work; ending his years as superintendent over several large projects.

His education for construction came from the Atlas Building Course library and experience;  he possessed an uncanny ability to bluff his way through first day ignorance of procedure until he could get home to consult his Atlas Course.

During this time, farming remained a secondary source of income.   Even though Dad’s days started early, he traveled as much as 40 miles one way each day,  maintained a farm and managed to build a home, with Mom’s and the children’s help.

Giss and Sallie Mae Cockrell, my Grandparents

Mom and Dad shared a home  with his parents.

Giss passed away suddenly,  December 21, 1954.  Grandma, who had suffered a stroke years earlier, died  April 30, 1956.

Mom had provided her in- home care for a long period of time.

Mom worked outside the home for many years ,as a seamstress, before establishing her own business, The  Rooster House, where she specialized in   sewing  men’s  and women’s suits, as well as equestrian jackets.

Even though she had the  reputation for doing outstanding work she refused to chargemore than $35 labor cost for her most detailed work!  That was the source of an ongoing “discussion” between the  2 of us…………she felt people could not afford to pay more!!

She could never accept the concept that she was valuing her labor at well below sweatshop level!!

A “decent home” for his family.

During the 1950′s Dad launched a project to provide a “decent home” for his family.

A home designed and built by Cockrell family

Our family continued to live in the old house,  while working on the new one.

Ours was a house literally built with  faith and love.

Determined to construct something that would last and serve the family well, Dad designed and built that house with no financing, just a lot of blood, sweat, (I remember no tears) and love!

As money became available, a few more supplies would be purchased until we had our house, literally a concrete shell, even the walls, with a roof and an inside bathroom (that was not usable until a while after we moved in).

Every weekend, the family would dig foundations, mix and pour cement, lay  block until finally after several long years, and finally getting a loan of less than $1000 for roofing materials,  in 1958,  just before Zeral was born, we moved in.

We still had dirt floors in some rooms, but we  had a new house, and a telephone!  Most of all we had  tangible evidence that as a family we were rich in commitment and caring.

Was our existence a struggle?  It was a challenge that made us strong; an effort that united us.

June, 1959 I  moved  away, looking for opportunity that did not exist in Saluda.

For twenty plus years, I lived in Atlanta.

During those years things changed.

My thoughts,  feeling and ideals were shaped by events and circumstances different from those I learned as a child.     Still, when I thought of home, my heart turned back to those days growing up  as one of  the “underprivileged ones”.

The house that was home to me, was not that old house where I had lived for 15 years, but the one my family had built and moved into less than two years before I left for Atlanta.

Home is where the heart is.

As my children grew, it did my heart good to hear them referring to a visit to my parents as “going home to visit Framma and Papa”.    Even their mother, my first wife, Iris would say we were going home.  We loved Atlanta, but we loved HOME in Saluda.

Back home in Saluda after 20 years

December 26, 1979  Saluda once more literally became my home.  We moved into a little house in town and settledinto being a part of a small town again.

Like the fictional god, Janus, the backward looking face smiled;  life was good, sometimes I  triumphed,  other times I stumbled;  always I rose and moved forward.

The forward looking face accepts the challenges it sees, flinching, but confident that good lies ahead.

Our lives have changed dramatically in these 30 years.

As a family, we have endured hardship, joy, sadness,

Home to me and Linda

anguish, separation and reconciliation; but in it all, there seems to abide the security of feeling this is home; home will always be here for us.

Someday, my family will place the ashes of my remains beneath the red clay of  Saluda  in Travis Park, I hope they are comforted by the fact that here I will sleep until the day  my Creator sees fit to restore my life.

Maybe,  He will choose to allow me to remain  in this part of the earth, even in Paradise, that I now call  home.