Singleton tells of a city slicker who danced his way into a chinaberry tree

A large chinaberry tree.

(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “City slicker’s fancy dancing got him stranded in a tree” was originally published in the Aug. 20, 1992 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

Each time I return to the area where I grew up, and I pass certain places with special memories, I feel as if those things happened yesterday.

I don’t understand it when everything else that I try to remember goes the way of the winds. But, as I stand for a while, every little detail seems to rush forth as if the years have slipped from the past and everything is once again as it was, when youth was in bloom and cares were few.

Many of the old places are gone now. But then, there are a few that still remain as though time forgot that they were there. For example, as I stopped near the old log community house where the local Saturday night dances were held, my thoughts flashed as if the event happened just yesterday.

This huge old log cabin was built many years ago. In the back of the large room where the dances were held, there was a very large open window. In the hot summertime, this huge window was left open so that those cool breezes could slip into the huge room and kinda cool off the activities that were going on. As the fiddles played and the banjos strummed up a hot tune, it was known to get hot there during a Saturday night in July or August.

Just outside the large window was a chinaberry tree. The building was built on the side of a steep hill and the rear of the log structure was a good 30 feet off the ground. Everyone who attended the weekly get-togethers knew about the long drop out the large window. Well, almost everyone.

On this certain Saturday night, a city slicker had been brought to the frolic by his country cousin. It seemed that his sole intention was to try and show everybody just how well he could dance. He would ask one of the young ladies there to dance. Then he would get out on the floor and show off with some fancy steps. The young lady would be left standing along while he whirled and jumped around the floor.

As the city slicker jumped and whirled around the floor, the brains of the country boys and girls were not idle. The fiddles and banjos played louder and faster. As he whirled wider and wider around the room, those watching began to clap their hands in rhythm to the fast music. All at once, on one of his wide circles, the city slicker stumbled and disappeared as if he had been grabbed off the face of the earth.

Gradually, the fast music slowed down. Almost everyone dashed for the huge open window. The city slicker was no where to be seen. Someone ran back and grabbed one of the large lamps from the ceiling and, leaning way out the huge window, the city slicker could be seen hanging between two limbs of the chinaberry tree.

Hurt pride

Nothing was hurt about this young man but his pride. Seeing that he was all right, everyone began to laugh and clap their hands. The band began to play once again, loud and fast. Finally, one of the older members of the crowd got everyone quiet enough to tell them that the city slicker had to be gotten out of that chinaberry tree. Looking out the window, we could see that he was hanging between the large branches of the tree.

All activity on the dance floor ceased. The large kerosene lamps were taken down from the ceiling, and everyone marched outside and around to the rear of the log building. The steep sloping hill made it almost impossible for anyone to stand near the large tree and look up without slipping down the hill on their backsides.

Finally, three of the stronger and more aggressive young men of the crowd climbed the tree, and, with much effort, freed the city slicker from between the large branches. Not being able to see the ground clearly, he tried to drop from a lower limb. When he touched the steep incline, he rolled a good 30 feet down the hill before he came to a sudden stop. This time, he wasn’t so lucky. A sharp snag in the hillside removed almost all of the seat of his pants.

Tried twice to climb hill

As the dim light from the kerosene lamps danced across his almost naked bottom, loud laughter and hand-clapping rocked the hillside. Twice, without success, he tried to make his way up the steep hill. Each time he would slide back down the hill, the snow-white skin of his backside grew a little darker from the rotted foliage and rich top soil there on the steep slope.

Finally, with the help of those who had helped get him loose from the tree branches, he succeeded in reaching the safety of the dance floor. The dancing was over for him. One could tell by the way he stood with his back against the rough log wall.

But, there are those in every crowd who might come to the aid of those in need. One of the elderly ladies who had come as a chaperon just happened to have a needle and some thread in her purse. Once again a large lamp was removed from the ceiling. In the pale light of the kerosene lamp, those hands, skilled with age that had rough stitched many a torn place in the seat of a young boy’s trousers, skillfully mended the city slicker’s soiled and torn britches while the crowd looked on and cheered.

When the repair work was over, this kind and wonderful elderly lady had the young man step forward so she could view her handiwork from a distance. With the approval of her work, cheers went up from the crowd. The young man embraced the lady with the needle and kissed her softly on her cheek.

The dancing and good times took up where they had left off, but this time, the dancing young man stayed clear of the window.

(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born to Vincent William Singleton and Frances Cornelia Faile Singleton, during a late-night thunderstorm, on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County, graduated from Sweet Water High School in 1946, served as a U.S. Marine paratrooper in the Korean War, worked as a riverboat deckhand, lived for a time among Apache Indians, moved to Monroe County on June 28, 1964 and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from June 28, 1964 to Dec. 14, 1987. He was promoted from the enlisted ranks to warrant officer in May 1972. For years, Singleton’s columns, titled “Monroe County history – Did you know?” and “Somewhere in Time” appeared in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a lengthy series of articles about Monroe County that appeared in Alabama Life magazine. It’s believed that his first column appeared in the March 25, 1971 edition of The Monroe Journal. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)