Cured is truly a story about the power of forgiveness. In 1962 in Choctaw County, Alabama, Carl Ray an 18-year-old black man was questioned by an older white man; but when responding, he failed to address the man as "sir" as was then customary when speaking to white men. The man severely beat him for being disrespectful. Still enraged, the man later showed up at Ray's home, and shot his father eight times on his front porch steps; murdered him in cold blood as the terrified youth looked on helplessly. During the farce of a murder trial that followed, the white man's lawyers blamed Ray for causing his own father's death because he had failed to be respectful. The man was charged with second degree manslaughter. However, he never served a day in prison for the murder. Ray was burdened with the guilt of causing his father's murder; his life would never be the same. In 1984, he was released from his self made prison of guilt when he forgave his father's murderer. Ray attributes the act of forgiving the man to have been his own life saver.

Cured

The Power of ForgivenessBy Carl Ray J. Toye Snipes

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Carl Ray with J. Toye Snipes
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4670-4462-2

Contents

Chapter 1 MY ENTRANCE INTO THE WORLD.............................1Chapter 2 FARM BOY...............................................10Chapter 3 LIVING WITH ELAINE.....................................22Chapter 4 MY FIRST JOB...........................................30Chapter 5 THE AFTERNOON..........................................35Chapter 6 THE TRIAL..............................................45Chapter 7 RETURN TO TUSKEGEE.....................................58Chapter 8 FIGHTING TO MAINTAIN MY SANITY.........................65Chapter 9 THE KLAN AND GEORGE WALLACE............................75Chapter 10 MENTORS...............................................83Chapter 11 BREAKING OUT OF MY SHELL..............................100Chapter 12 LEAVING TUSKEGEE......................................112Chapter 13 CALIFORNIA HERE I COME................................118Chapter 14 THE DIVORCE...........................................132Chapter 15 IN-LAWS...............................................142Chapter 16 THE BEGINNING OF MY COMEDY CAREER.....................150Chapter 17 CHANGING CAREERS......................................159Chapter 18 TAXI DRIVER...........................................168Chapter 19 ARRIVAL OF FORGIVENESS................................183Chapter 20 THE FRUIT OF FORGIVENESS..............................193Chapter 21 THE PLAY..............................................197Chapter 22 CURED.................................................209

Chapter One

MY ENTRANCE INTO THE WORLD

Some souls must burn in hell for the torment I experienced in life, in spite of the many angels that God placed along my path throughout my life, I wanted someone to experience the wrath of hell on this side of life.

The morning of September 6, 1962 was beautiful as the sun rose above the treetops along the edge of the cotton field. The sounds of Mocking birds chirping and roosters crowing filled the air with beautiful music as I tended my morning chores of feeding the chickens, cows and hogs. Stopping to give my horse Buck a good rub down, I gently explained to her that I was going away to college but would return home for the Christmas break. I talked to all of the farm animals to assure them that they would be alright without me. However, the pigs didn't seem to care about my little going away pep talk. The looks on their faces seemed to say, "Just shut up and give us our corn so we can get back to wallowing in our mud hole." At that time, I had no way of knowing that this would be the last chat with my beloved farm animals. Before the sun had an opportunity to hide itself beyond the west end of the valley, I would be cast into the depths of hell without leaving the surface of the earth; and locked into a nightmare that would last for over forty years.

I was preparing to leave Choctaw County, Alabama where I was born and lived most of my life. Life in Choctaw County, and throughout most of the south was completely segregated ... whites and blacks lived in separate communities. Every area of life was segregated including schools, churches, restaurants, water fountains, and restrooms. Blacks were not allowed the use of public libraries, parks, and swimming pools, even though their tax dollars were used to build and maintain them. School buses were not provided for most black children, resulting in them having to walk several miles to and from school each day.

Blacks lived under an apartheid system which relegated them to second-class citizenship in a Black/White society. The majority of blacks lived in rural farm areas with dirt roads and homes without electricity, telephones, toilets, or indoor plumbing. Kerosene lamps provided light, buckets were used to get water from the wells or streams and the toilets (outhouses) were located several yards from the house. Homes were heated with fireplaces and wood burning stoves. These were the conditions under which I began my journey in life.

The first months of my life were touch and go, prompting most of my relatives to come by just to see the tiny baby who probably wouldn't be around very long. My life began on August 30, 1944 in the community of Mt. Olive, just a stone's throw from the flourishing town of Butler, Alabama. Even though there was a major highway running through town, both places seemed somewhat isolated as they sat near the Mississippi border in the southwest corner of the state. That year I was ushered into this world at home with the aid of a midwife as were many other black babies in the county. I became the baby brother to four older siblings, Elanie, Lindsey, Lemarvin, and Louida. Being the last child born to George and Vidella Ray, I was two months premature and weighed less than two pounds. While growing up, I was often reminded by my paternal grandmother, Laura Ann Ray, that the only person that really expected me to live was Momma.

My grandfather, George Ray II, who initially visited shortly after my birth was so sure I wasn't going to survive, he vowed that he would not return to see me unless I lived a month. Even though he only lived about two hundred yards up the road; he kept true to his word. Miraculously, I did survive that first month and as I grew, Granny would often tell me this story and would always end it with a laugh, "Well, you sho' did kick dirt in his face."

Momma just refused to allow me to die. Since I was so small and fragile, she had to make a special bra to carry me next to her bosom. After a couple of visits to the doctor, he informed her that she could probably do more for me than he could ever do. Back in the community, I became a circus side show of sorts because most people had never seen a baby so small.

My second setback in life occurred when I was just eleven months old. While playing with me, two of my siblings accidentally dropped me. Being kids and afraid of the consequences they failed to tell Momma. It wasn't until a few nights later when Momma wasn't able to stop my crying that she walked over a mile with me to the church where Daddy and my brothers and sisters were attending a revival meeting. Momma's concern was justified because after rushing me to the doctor, they discovered my collarbone had been broken. When Momma and Daddy returned home and confronted Lemarvin and Louida, they quickly confessed to their actions.

If staying alive and surviving with two siblings that obviously seemed not to have a need for a little brother wasn't enough, at four years old I woke up one morning and discovered I was completely paralyzed. The right side of my body from my shoulder down to my waist was paralyzed. I had contracted Polio, a disease for which there was no cure or prevention. Another medical crisis had visited me and my family. I often wondered how devastated Momma must have felt. Was having a child like myself some type of test that would eventually prepare her for some sort of major crisis in life?

My most vivid memories about the early days of living with Polio were the visits to the county health clinic in Butler. Twice a year health officials would round up all of the Polio victims in the county and have their parents bring them to the clinic. Even at my young age, I saw no apparent reason for the round-ups except to count bodies. The children in the worst condition were sent a hundred miles away to another clinic in Mobile, Alabama. I would...