Remembering Momma
Yesterday, my Mother, Corinne (Connie) Bradford would have been 101 years old. Her memories and influence over her family, students, friends and associates continue, even though she has been gone for more than six years. If I had a dollar for everyone at the recent St. Jude Trail Ride who mentioned “Mrs. Bradford,” I could retire full time and live comfortably.
Naturally, everyone has memories of their mothers since as a rule, they were the center piece of the family structure. Dads wanted you to believe they wore the pants in the family but only after the mother picked out the pants and told them when and where to wear them.
My Dad was tougher than a $2 poolroom steak but Momma ruled the roost in our Leighton home.
After a parent is gone, certain smells, sights, sounds, tastes and stories, open the memory vault like none other. I am no different. Since Mother was an American History and speech teacher at Colbert County High School for almost 30 years, her life was an open book. Almost:
When I see a perfect pan of cornbread that slides out of the cast iron skillet that was last washed when Eisenhower was in office, I think of Momma. Even with her partially paralyzed right hand, she would figure out a way to turn the pan upside down and watch her heavenly cornbread flop on the plate. Gimme some butter while I cut off a sliver and Heaven can wait. Momma and Martha White are probably up There comparing recipes.
This is a true story with my hand on a bar of Ivory soap. Since we grew up in the football locker rooms at CCHS from elementary school until we started playing, we were exposed to a lot of salty stories and language from the players. They never knew that an 8-year-old was absorbing it all. We (my brother and I) overheard a raunchy joke with a number of 4-letter words in the punch line.
I decided to repeat the joke to a friend, using the word “d*mn” in the punchline. I was on the back porch with the screen door closed. Mother was cooking in the kitchen and heard it all. “What did you say?” I lied and left out the infamous 4-letter word. She taught me a lesson like many others my age were taught.
She sent me to our only bathroom to get a bar of soap to “wash my mouth out.” I thought she was kidding. Momma don’t kid! She lathered up a washrag and had me open my mouth like I was at the dentist’s office and proceeded to wash my tongue, teeth and mouth with the soap. It’s funny now, after 66 years but not then. It made an impression on me after spitting, belching and gagging for almost an hour.
When someone says that they should “have their mouth washed out with soap,” I can attest that it works.
Johhny Dill from Deshler High and later the University of Alabama, loved to tell this story about Momma. She always kept her own scorebook in the stands when Bob and I played. This particular game was being played at the “Barn” in Leighton. Deshler was one of our biggest rivals and Dill was their best player. Our best player, Robert Bates, got called for a foul, late in the game. The scorekeeper, Denton Copeland, signaled that it was Bate’s fifth foul.
As our coach, Jerry Daily, was about to make a substitute, Momma spoke up. “Denton, that’s wrong, that was only Robert’s 4th foul. I have it here in my book.” Denton looked back at Mother and asked “Mrs. Bradford, are you sure?” She said “Yes, I’m sure.” The following is TRUE.
Our scorekeeper took his pencil and erased one of Bate’s fouls and said to the referees and coaches: “I made a mistake. Mrs. Bradford would NEVER lie. Bates only has 4 fouls.” He stayed in the game, and we came back and beat Deshler. Every time that I see Johnny Dill, he has to remind me of that foul erasure.
In Momma’s later years, she chose to live in Morningside Retirement Village in Sheffield. She spent her last 10 years there and loved it. Momma discovered the song “Some Beach, Somewhere” and loved the melody and song by Blake Shelton. (In a touch of irony, the song’s writer, Paul Overstreet, was mine and Susan’s guest at the Kentucky Derby, in 2025).
Mother spent days playing the song for her fellow residents until my sister asked Mom if she knew what the song was about. Momma replied: “Yes, it’s about a beach.” When Susan explained to her it’s a song about frustration and a play on the words abbreviated SOB, she started crying and later explained the real meaning of the song. My wife told Paul this story and he died laughing about it.
In 1984, Ronald Reagan was running for reelection. Since I was on the football staff at Alabama, we got floor seats at Coleman Coliseum in Tuscaloosa for one of his speeches. We were on about the 15th row. A protester stood up behind us and started shouting at Reagan and disrupting the occasion. As the Secret Service was getting to the protestor, my Momma (the patriot) turned and started lecturing this young man. “You might not like MY president, but as an American, you should respect the office.” At the time, I wanted to hide under my seat since this lady (Momma) was lecturing in front of the president. Today, I am still proud of her.
Later that day, President Reagan stopped at the Northport McDonalds on his way to the airport. There is still a plaque there, commemorating his visit.
The taste of Irish stew, carrot cake or cream style corn makes me think of Momma.
Unfortunately, so does the sight and taste of Ivory soap.
Happy 101 Momma.
There will never be another like you.