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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Biography / Autobiography
- Published: 04/07/2025
The Greatest Movie Line I Ever Heard!
By
MARCUS A GEDDIE
Born 1949, M, from Sparta, Tennessee, United States
The Greatest Movie Line I Ever Heard!
Growing up in East Texas, I was truly Blessed. I was taught, without anyone saying a word, about God, Love, Respect, the Worth of People, no matter the Color of their skin or their religious belief; that wrong is always wrong and right is always right, and to stand up for what is right and fight against what is wrong! I thank God for that and will try for the rest of my life to stand for what I know is right!
East Texas in the early 50’s was deep into segregation and racial class. There were White Neighborhoods in town where all the streets were paved by the city and there were Street Lights and all of the conveniences that we needed. We had running water and electricity to the house. A hedge around our yard (which, btw, I learned to hate every time I was told to trim it), a green back yard (which my older brother hated when he was told to mow it, with a manual reel-type mower). In other words, a kind of “Leave it to Beaver” type of existence.
But there were some things that I didn’t quite understand. My mom taught School all day while my Dad, who was the Associational Minister for Enon Baptist Association, was busy. They both worked outside the home, so they hired “Miss Beulah” to come and take care of the house during the day and take care of me and my brother when we got home from school.
It never occurred to me or to my brother that Miss Beulah was black. All I knew was she gave the best hugs when we got home from school and always had some snacks for a hungry kid after school. I knew she had a boy about our age, but I never could figure out why she wouldn’t bring him over to the house to play. Now, as an adult, I understand why! It would have been dangerous for her to do so.
As an Associational Minister, my father would often have preachers from one of the “Black” churches come by for a visit. That term was very confusing to me because when Dad would take us to visit a “Black” Church, they were always painted White. To a 6-year-old boy that was confusing. Why was a “Black Church” painted White? It wasn’t black, it was white. And why were they always out in the country on somebody’s field? Why weren’t they in town like the other 5 Baptist churches? Very confusing!
The prelude to the incident that I want to relate occurred because one of the pastors of one of the “Black” churches came to visit my dad one day to discuss some business relating to his church. This was a frequent occurrence in our house so to us it was normal. It was a typical summer day in the little town of Atlanta (Texas, not Georgia), so my Father decided we should all go get something cold to help with the heat, and Walker's Drug Store had a Soda Fountain. He decided to go there for a Root Beer float.
When we got there, the Pastor of the church hesitated to sit down at the table, and my dad said, “non-sense sit here at the table, we’ll talk.” I am not sure that he knew the furor that he was about to raise, but if he did, I am not sure that he cared!
The owner of the Drug store came over, pointed to the pastor, who, by the way, was very well dressed in his suit, white starched shirt, and tie, & said, “I am sorry, but he can’t sit here. He’ll have to go back in the ‘colored’ section.” My father, not wanting to cause a problem, replied that he was with us, but was met with “That doesn’t matter. He can’t sit here”. My Father’s response was, “OK, we’ll go sit with him in the ‘Colored Only’ section, “which we did. Then came the backlash!
My Father had always taught us that the color of skin does not make the man, but the heart does. I also learned from this incident that the heart of some men was blacker than the skin on the ones they hate.
I also learned something else about the Ku Klux Klan. When they are in their white robes and under those pointed hats, they are typical bullies- Bold but by no means Brave!
We lived in a very large Southern Style home with 4 bedrooms, 2 baths, a humongous kitchen, a formal Dining and a gigantic living room. There was also a screened-in full-width porch in front with white columns, with a cement step down to a small yard. We always lived in the back portion of the house, which I found out later in life was built as Servants' quarters.
One night, about a week later, in the middle of the night, our dog went crazy at the windows in the front of the house. My mother told my brother and me to stay in bed and not to come to the front part of the house. Yea right! That’s like an invitation to come see what was happening! As we sneaked into the large living room to look outside, I saw the greatest act of bravery I have ever known!
Through the front windows we could see that there were figures dressed in White Robes, about 10 of them, with a cross stuck in the front yard that was on fire, and a bald, 5’2” figure that couldn’t have weighed more than 120 pounds soaking wet, standing on the porch in his pajamas with an old Essex Double Barrel12 gauge shotgun in his hands. It was one of the most frightening sights a 6-year-old could possibly see!
My father, who at that time seemed somehow a lot larger than I remembered, was standing there facing off with the Klan, saying, “Get out of my yard right now”. When they started talking, my father recognized voices and started calling them by name, which frightened some of them and made them move back.
Why didn’t he call the town constable, Homer Carter, to come and stop it? We’ll he had already recognized Homer's voice, and said, “I would call Homer Carter, but seeing that he is standing right there (as he pointed to one of them), I guess it’s just me!”, as the figure started to shrink into the background.”
He shouted again for them to get off his property as he pulled back both hammers of the 12-gauge and raised it in a big sweep. One of them challenged him. “You’re a preacher, you aren’t going to kill anyone!” as they stood there staring at each other.
Then my father called the man’s name & then gave him the most movie-worthy line I have ever heard. “You're right, I don’t intend on killing anyone,” as he pointed the 12 gauge at the man’s feet;” but I am going to put a great big hole right there where you are standing. On the count of three… ONE. TWO,”. The man made a very rapid retreat as my father followed him out of the yard.
I always wondered what would have happened and how my father, a bald, diminutive Baptist preacher, developed the courage to do that. Years later, after my father had passed, I saw a picture of James Norton Geddie, my grandfather, in an old box in their closet. He was sitting on top of the most beautiful and biggest horse I had ever seen. On the back it read,” James Norton Geddie, Deputy Texas Ranger. I guess that it was genetic!
Growing up in East Texas, I was truly Blessed. I was taught, without anyone saying a word, about God, Love, Respect, the Worth of People, no matter the Color of their skin or their religious belief; that wrong is always wrong and right is always right, and to stand up for what is right and fight against what is wrong! I thank God for that and will try for the rest of my life to stand for what I know is right!
East Texas in the early 50’s was deep into segregation and racial class. There were White Neighborhoods in town where all the streets were paved by the city and there were Street Lights and all of the conveniences that we needed. We had running water and electricity to the house. A hedge around our yard (which, btw, I learned to hate every time I was told to trim it), a green back yard (which my older brother hated when he was told to mow it, with a manual reel-type mower). In other words, a kind of “Leave it to Beaver” type of existence.
But there were some things that I didn’t quite understand. My mom taught School all day while my Dad, who was the Associational Minister for Enon Baptist Association, was busy. They both worked outside the home, so they hired “Miss Beulah” to come and take care of the house during the day and take care of me and my brother when we got home from school.
It never occurred to me or to my brother that Miss Beulah was black. All I knew was she gave the best hugs when we got home from school and always had some snacks for a hungry kid after school. I knew she had a boy about our age, but I never could figure out why she wouldn’t bring him over to the house to play. Now, as an adult, I understand why! It would have been dangerous for her to do so.
As an Associational Minister, my father would often have preachers from one of the “Black” churches come by for a visit. That term was very confusing to me because when Dad would take us to visit a “Black” Church, they were always painted White. To a 6-year-old boy that was confusing. Why was a “Black Church” painted White? It wasn’t black, it was white. And why were they always out in the country on somebody’s field? Why weren’t they in town like the other 5 Baptist churches? Very confusing!
The prelude to the incident that I want to relate occurred because one of the pastors of one of the “Black” churches came to visit my dad one day to discuss some business relating to his church. This was a frequent occurrence in our house so to us it was normal. It was a typical summer day in the little town of Atlanta (Texas, not Georgia), so my Father decided we should all go get something cold to help with the heat, and Walker's Drug Store had a Soda Fountain. He decided to go there for a Root Beer float.
When we got there, the Pastor of the church hesitated to sit down at the table, and my dad said, “non-sense sit here at the table, we’ll talk.” I am not sure that he knew the furor that he was about to raise, but if he did, I am not sure that he cared!
The owner of the Drug store came over, pointed to the pastor, who, by the way, was very well dressed in his suit, white starched shirt, and tie, & said, “I am sorry, but he can’t sit here. He’ll have to go back in the ‘colored’ section.” My father, not wanting to cause a problem, replied that he was with us, but was met with “That doesn’t matter. He can’t sit here”. My Father’s response was, “OK, we’ll go sit with him in the ‘Colored Only’ section, “which we did. Then came the backlash!
My Father had always taught us that the color of skin does not make the man, but the heart does. I also learned from this incident that the heart of some men was blacker than the skin on the ones they hate.
I also learned something else about the Ku Klux Klan. When they are in their white robes and under those pointed hats, they are typical bullies- Bold but by no means Brave!
We lived in a very large Southern Style home with 4 bedrooms, 2 baths, a humongous kitchen, a formal Dining and a gigantic living room. There was also a screened-in full-width porch in front with white columns, with a cement step down to a small yard. We always lived in the back portion of the house, which I found out later in life was built as Servants' quarters.
One night, about a week later, in the middle of the night, our dog went crazy at the windows in the front of the house. My mother told my brother and me to stay in bed and not to come to the front part of the house. Yea right! That’s like an invitation to come see what was happening! As we sneaked into the large living room to look outside, I saw the greatest act of bravery I have ever known!
Through the front windows we could see that there were figures dressed in White Robes, about 10 of them, with a cross stuck in the front yard that was on fire, and a bald, 5’2” figure that couldn’t have weighed more than 120 pounds soaking wet, standing on the porch in his pajamas with an old Essex Double Barrel12 gauge shotgun in his hands. It was one of the most frightening sights a 6-year-old could possibly see!
My father, who at that time seemed somehow a lot larger than I remembered, was standing there facing off with the Klan, saying, “Get out of my yard right now”. When they started talking, my father recognized voices and started calling them by name, which frightened some of them and made them move back.
Why didn’t he call the town constable, Homer Carter, to come and stop it? We’ll he had already recognized Homer's voice, and said, “I would call Homer Carter, but seeing that he is standing right there (as he pointed to one of them), I guess it’s just me!”, as the figure started to shrink into the background.”
He shouted again for them to get off his property as he pulled back both hammers of the 12-gauge and raised it in a big sweep. One of them challenged him. “You’re a preacher, you aren’t going to kill anyone!” as they stood there staring at each other.
Then my father called the man’s name & then gave him the most movie-worthy line I have ever heard. “You're right, I don’t intend on killing anyone,” as he pointed the 12 gauge at the man’s feet;” but I am going to put a great big hole right there where you are standing. On the count of three… ONE. TWO,”. The man made a very rapid retreat as my father followed him out of the yard.
I always wondered what would have happened and how my father, a bald, diminutive Baptist preacher, developed the courage to do that. Years later, after my father had passed, I saw a picture of James Norton Geddie, my grandfather, in an old box in their closet. He was sitting on top of the most beautiful and biggest horse I had ever seen. On the back it read,” James Norton Geddie, Deputy Texas Ranger. I guess that it was genetic!
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