Courtesy of Terry L. Jones
Laura Lillian Scoggin Jones.
I miss my mom. She’s been gone fifteen years, but I sometimes have the fleeting thought that I need to call her about something.
Laura Lillian Scoggin was a Mississippi girl who grew up on a Newton County farm during the Depression. My grandfather moved the family to Pascagoula during the war so he could work in the shipyard, and Mom met my father there at a dance in 1944.
Daddy was in the Coast Guard and was smitten by the pretty nineteen-year-old. They married three months later and lived happily together for fifty-nine years.
Pop became a pipeline construction engineer and we traveled all over the country following his jobs. It was not until I became a parent myself that I fully appreciated what an extraordinary woman my mom was.
My parents, two older brothers, and I lived in a small 46’x8’ trailer with all of our worldly possessions. We constantly moved from state to state following Pop’s job and never stayed in one place for long.
Every time we moved, Mom had to take her boys to the school board office to enroll us in class and get a list of textbooks that had to be purchased at the county book store. Sometimes we were not in one town long enough to even get a report card. When one school employee said there was no point in enrolling us for such a short period of time, Mom bristled and said her sons would be enrolled even if it was for a couple of weeks.
Wherever we lived, Mom always took us to the library regularly to check out books and ensured that we visited as many historic sites as possible. I have always thought that this nurturing had something to do with me becoming a history professor.
When I was about ten, my parents built a nice home in Winn Parish, and my brothers and I started attending Dodson High School full time. Mom loved that house and worked hard to landscape the yard and keep the inside clean and tidy.
I received my last butt whipping from her when I was sixteen for breaking the cardinal rule of never wearing your shoes on the carpet. I was about six feet tall at the time but it didn’t stop her from giving me one of those classic round and round “You gonna do that again?” spankings. To this day, I automatically take my shoes off at the door.
When school let out, Mom stuffed the car with everything we might possibly need for three months, including pots and pans, and drove up to a thousand miles to the job site.
Upon arrival, she had to find a place to stay, get the utilities turned on, and rent a television and other appliances, all while watching over three rambunctious boys. She then got up before daylight every morning to fix Pop a lunch and always had a hot supper waiting for him at the end of the day.
When we were home during the school year, Mom was able to indulge her love for the outdoors. She treasured her flowers, garden, and fruit trees, and we boys were constantly digging, planting, and tilling.
Fishing was one of Mom’s greatest passions, and some of my fondest memories are our trips together.
She sometimes went with me to run yo-yo’s on Dugdemona even though she did not swim and had to cross several sloughs on foot logs.
Always nervous in a boat, Mom frequently asked, “How deep is it here?” and I would tell her, “Well, Momma, if it’s over your head it really doesn’t matter.”
Because of her fear of water, Mom much preferred I let her out on the bank at a submerged stump that we dubbed “Momma’s White Perch Hole.” She was content to sit there on a cypress root for a couple of hours with her pole and bucket of shiners whether she caught anything or not.
Once a violent thunderstorm popped up and we took shelter under a big huckleberry bush as the rain poured down in sheets, and lightning cracked dangerously close. We got soaking wet but laughed about it over the years.
When Pop retired, he built a nice pond that became one of Mom’s favorite places. While commuting from Natchitoches to ULM, I would stop by the house at least once a week to check on them, and Mom and I would walk down to the dock in the late afternoon to feed the fish, sit, and just talk. I miss that.
Dr. Terry L. Jones is professor emeritus of history at the University of Louisiana at Monroe who has received numerous awards for his books and outdoor articles.
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