George Buster Singleton |
When I first saw this rock at an old Indian village site, I couldn’t believe my eyes. When I first discovered it, it looked like a large turtle creeping through the tall grass.
I was alone and a long way from any road or trail where I might bring a vehicle close enough to haul it out. I knew that I wanted to get it out so that it could be seen by someone else. I decided to hide it until I could get help in carrying it out to the road.
A year came and went before the right opportunity presented itself. This good friend of mine, who seemed strong and healthy enough, mentioned about our doing some hiking in the woods.
I thought of my rock that was shaped like a turtle that I had hidden the year before. I suggested we go in and bring it out, all the time, keeping in mind how heavy the rock was.
Hot day, heavy rock
The Sunday afternoon came, and we, along with our wives, proceeded to the spot where I had hidden the rock. The afternoon was hot, and the rock was heavy.
It didn’t take us long to decide to hide it again and wait for cooler weather. So, once again, my turtle-shaped rock went into hiding.
Another year passed: then last October, I vowed to bring it out of the woods. I fashioned myself a backpack of sorts and headed for the hiding place.
If anyone, without knowing what I was doing, had happened by just as I was lifting the pack with the huge boulder fastened to it, he would have thought that I was doing a drunken war dance.
I had to lie down on my side and fasten on the pack, which was placed on its side with the rock secured to it. I had to slip into the shoulder straps and then roll over on my stomach, slowly raising my shoulders. Then I brought my knees up under me, and after considerable effort – with the help of a strong sapling – I climbed to my feet.
Leaned against trees
I was unable to rest because I couldn’t put the pack down. I didn’t want to go through the ritual of lying down on the ground again, so I learned to back up to a tree and, leaning hard against the tree, let the tree support a part of the weight.
I’m sure if the Indians of that village could have seen me, staggering along through the woods, with a rock weighing over 200 pounds that was shaped like a turtle on my back, I would have been the topic of many fireside legends.
(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 also helped organize the Monroe County Museum and Historical Society and was also a past president of that organization. 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.)
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