Had Jody Davenport been born in Charles Dickens’ time and
place he would have been one of the gamins or urchins Dickens masterfully
presented to us. Jody was more
unchaperoned than anyone of his age and most a good deal older. He wandered
wantonly around the community—not committing horrid acts, but skirting the
edges of moral and legal acceptability.
In Daddy’s position as church deacon he was entrusted with
the Church Birthday Can. It was a large Prince Albert Tobacco can with a coin
slot cut in the lid. This can was faithfully carried to church each Sunday. It
sat prominently on a table near the pulpit. Those who had birthdays during the
week dropped ‘a penny-per-year’ in the can. This was the church emergency fund.
Jody usually went to
the Holiness Church if he went at all. Occasionally he inadvertently wandered
into our Baptist Church. Jody who never fed the birthday can was aware of its
existence.
Then came the day Daddy found the Birthday Can removed from
the shelf in our dining room, lid removed and empty of its pennies, nickels and
dimes. No question—Daddy knew—we all knew. Jody!
The money was recovered minus the amount Jody spent at the
Rolling Store for candy, gum and crackerjacks. And a higher, safer home was found for the Birthday Can. Jody remained Jody.
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