Biographies: Wyatt F. Jackson, 1932, Winn Parish, LA Submitted by Greggory E. Davies, 120 Ted Price Lane, Winnfield, LA 71483 ********************************************** Copyright. All rights reserved. http://usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://usgwarchives.net/la/lafiles.htm ********************************************** From: May 13, 1932 Winnfield News American (by R. W. Oglesby) Passing In Review This Week We Have Wyatt F. Jackson In a conversation with Dr. S. C. Fittz one day, I asked him if he had his life to live over again and he had the power of choosing whom he would be like among his acquaintances what person would be his choice, and, without a moments hesitation, and with an aptitude that indicated that he had already settled that question for all time, he replied, "Wyatt F. Jackson." I was quite well acquainted with Mr. Jackson myself, and to know him was to love him, but following up the question and answer with another, I asked him what particular phase of Mr. Jackson's life appealed to him so strongly. He said that it was his happy disposition. No matter what the conditions were, whether drought or flood, he was always in a happy frame of mind. He got joy where to most mortals there was no joy. He spread sunshine when there was no sun to be seen. There was a serene contentment about him that radiated and the most casual meeting with him made one fell better. To sit down and have a talk with him for a few moments made an apostle of sunshine out of that fortunate person and he went away scattering that precious article. Mr. Jackson in his last days had certain hanging out places, his favorite resort preponderated in favor of the Hardware Store and Bill Heard. Here he would usually meet his pals, W. P. Odom and C. H. Sutton, and they would have a happy session, with Bill and others who were passing by as attentive listeners. They pranked with one another like three boys. The ladies organized what they called the Civic League its purpose being to beautify the town. In order to raise funds to use in that worthy cause, the got up a baseball game between the fats and leans out at the old Wallace Park. The game was preceded by a grand parade through the business section of town. In the abundance of caution, they had Red Cross nurses and an ambulance corps. At my first time to the bat on the side of the fats, of course, I accidentally hit a three bagger. In going from second to third my head got faster than my feet with the usual result. The ambulance corps was johnny on the spot and the nurses administered first aid without stint, and although I was uninjured, a stranger would have thought that I had just retired from the front line trenches. The game ended, as it usually does when the fats and the leans meet in mortal combat, with the score in favor of the leans. Speculation was rife as to what caused this outcome of the game and uncle Wyatt, who was an attentive on looker advanced the theory that I had purposely and for a consideration thrown the game. My sporting blood was aroused and my patriotic senses were keenly wounded at this unjust accusation. I preferred charges against him for slander and a moot court was duly assembled in the old courthouse with J. R. Watts sitting as the judge, J. B. Fick as district attorney, and C. M. Bevill attorney for the defendant. A woman jury was empaneled with Mrs. J. T. Wood as foreman. A charge of ten cents admission netted some forty dollars. A clear cut case was made out against the defendant and the jury upon being charged by the judge retired to deliberate upon their verdict. In a few moments they returned into the court room with the strangest verdict that has ever been rendered. Although not on trial myself they convicted me of throwing the game. Mr. Jackson was a regular attendant at the Masonic Lodge. He believed and practiced the principles of that great order and fraternized freely with his brother masons. The one thing that stands out most vividly in my memory about him in this connection is that at all funeral processions, and I never knew him to miss one, he was the leader of that doleful tune "Hark From the Tomb" which is always sung by the craft while marching around the grave of the deceased brother. When he cast the sprig of evergreen into the grave and said "alas my brother" he meant it literally. We all felt that way when we paid that tribute to him and I am not so certain that Dr. Fittz didn't make a wise choice.