M.B. Gibson's Blog, page 3

“We Don’t Sell Beer”

A Natchez, Mississippi man named Ron Miller, looking to improve his community, hosted a federal official who could help finance his project. Miller took the official out on the town. At the midnight hour, the visitor asked to visit a well-known local bordello, Nellie’s. Just out of curiosity. As was the practice, Miller took the man to the back door. A young woman answered. “What do you want?” Miller explained they’d like to drink a couple of beers and talk. “We don’t sell beer.” The woman bluntly told him what they did sell. “When you want some of that, you ...

“He Made More Money in Death Than Life”

Elmer McCurdy was a drunk and a deadbeat. Or more politely, a ne’er-do-well. Born in 1880, he reportedly failed at many enterprises, perhaps due to his hard-drinking ways. Eventually, he landed amongst a gang of train robbers, known for bungled burglaries. In 1911, the outfit learned of a train carrying a safe with thousands in government funds. They made their plans. They executed said plans. One glitch. The train they’d targeted was delayed. The one they robbed carried passengers only. After making away with a whopping forty-six dollars and a few bottles of whiskey, a chase ensued. The posse caught ...

When “I got your nose” Ain’t Funny

Snatching a child’s nose while tucking your thumb between your fingers may seem like innocent fun, but the gentlemen of the nineteenth-century South beg to differ.             While slapping a man’s face with white gloves is more dramatic, men of means did not take the touching of their noses lightly. No matter how lightly they were touched. This insult to one’s honor could result in death.             The visible integrity of the upper crust was crucial to their success. In a world where one’s word was their literal bond, to be insinuated as dishonest could preclude any future bank loans ...

The Sandbar Fight of September 18th or 19th, 1827

Across from the notorious Natchez Under-the-Hill, Jim Bowie and his famous knife found their way into American legend.

Two Natures at War

The landscape of the Mississippi Delta is striking. On the surface, at least.

PTSD or Post Traumatic Growth?

We've all experienced pain. But is it clean pain or dirty pain?

“Where there’s tea, there’s hope”

The title quote comes from Arthur Wing Pinero, a British dramatist of the late nineteenth century. I feel confident he knows of what he speaks. For myself, an invitation to a formal tea would be terrifying. I’ve never been one to grasp the finer points of social graces. Like my daughter says, “We’re clumsy people.” So, when my main character, Ben Pryor, is invited to tea by the matriarch of Cold Creek Plantation in 1836, I had no trouble describing his dread. What were the rules for such an occasion? My working-class parents were sticklers for good table manners, but ...

“Well, I hear you went up to Saratoga”

And your horse naturally won… Not exactly. You’d have to go back 165 years to watch the incredible win of the horse my ancestor, Ben Pryor, was famous for training. Last month, my sister and her husband, Evie and Tom Kelly, visited the National Museum of Racing and Hall of Fame in Saratoga, New York, to learn more about Ben and the racehorse he trained, Lexington. With the help of the hall’s docent, Evie and Tom found some items of interest. Lexington was part of the inaugural class of inductees to the newly founded Hall of Fame in 1955. The ...

“All the Heavens Were a Bell”*

I’m revisiting a post I wrote in 2013. I’ve learned a bit since then… WARNING: Some of this stuff is kinda gruesome. Throughout this month of curling, brown leaves that crunch underfoot and zombie-like stalks of once-lush corn, the days shorten in anticipation of All Hallow’s Eve, an ancient festival of the dead. Ghosts and ghouls reflect the age-old dread of the deceased lest they unleash their supernatural powers upon us. Many practices over the years stem from this fear which–have no doubt–still exists today. Living next door to a cemetery has resulted in suspicious looks by more than one ...

“We’re All Ghosts”

“We’re all ghosts,” wrote Liam Callanan. “We all carry, inside us, people who came before us.” I don’t know if that’s true. My whole life I’d imagined my roots as ordinary—until I researched my Pryor roots and the surprises spilled! My grandfather, Luke Pryor, and I were remarkably close. He told me story after entertaining story of his life, but he never relayed anything about his father or grandfather. Did he know of this great-uncle, also named Luke Pryor? I discovered the man was a United States senator from Alabama after the Civil War. For fun, I scoured old newspaper ...