Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, June 25, 1995 TAG: 9506280006
SECTION: BOOK PAGE: F-4 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: REVIEWED BY WENDY L. TURNER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
"The mind of a boy is a wonderful place, full of endless, exotic adventures. I have done my best to recapture that feeling on the pages of this book."
So writes David Hunter in the foreword to "Trailer Trash From Tennessee," a collection of 33 innocent, exciting, saddening, exhilarating and hilarious "technicolor memories" of his childhood. This book is not merely an assemblage of youthful recollections; it is an exposition of an author's soul during his golden season of life.
Hunter's subjects include chickens who "ain't got no feathers on their butts"; a pet hog named Pinky Pig who provides tenderloin for the unassuming child; a substitute teacher; a 5-foot, 200-pound grandmother who "could still knock a door loose from the bolt and hinges"; and an auburn-haired bombshell of an "older" woman.
Perhaps the most memorable vignette, "And I Feared a Shotgun Wedding," is as poignant as its title. After a brief introduction on just how little the author knew about the birds and the bees, readers are introduced to Mary, the girl with whom Hunter, at the age of 11, had his "first romantic fling."
Hunter's father, William Henry "Bill" Hunter, was raised a Roman Catholic, but, on the side of the road one day, converted to the Southern Baptist edict that "you must be born again," never faltering in his new-found and stern convictions. Once he pointed out a retarded man to his son and explained that his condition was a product of masturbation, not for the use of a "scare tactic" but because he honestly believed it. Appropriately, Hunter dedicates these memoirs to his father, who, in conjunction with his son, lies at the heart of this collection.
Hunter appropriately entitles his concluding story "Childhood's End." How does one know when to end the story of his childhood? Hunter writes, "For me, I discovered, childhood withered away in my eleventh year, not with a bang, but a whimper. Puberty had me in its grip; I received my last spanking and my last toy pistol. Worst of all, though, I found out what Christmas had really cost my parents through the years."
Hunter painfully relays the day in late December his father took him to the pawn shop and cheaply dispensed of expensive power tools and a .22 caliber pistol. So stunned into submission over the sacrifices of his parent, he could not look his own father in the face.
That was the day that Hunter understood the harsh realities of life and, in essence, the understanding ended his childhood.
Written with the tenderness of an adult reliving his boyhood memories, "Trailer Trash From Tennessee" is as certain to secure its place in Southern and Appalachian literature as it does in the hearts of the old and young alike.
Wendy L. Turner is a Radford writer.
by CNB