AND SO IT BEGINS ...

My story starts out back in the early sixties. Charles Deese Jr. and Jo Ann (Cotton) Deese decided to make a trip to Baptist Hospital one day to birth their second child. Upon their return home my sister, six years my senior, was introduced to Charles Van Deese. Now of course, I can't tell you a whole lot about my welcome home partly due to the fact that I was asleep as newborns generally tend to be (at least the ones down here in the South).

The "South", that don't tell you a whole lot, nor does it describe exactly where. As I said, I was born in Baptist Hospital but I guess every city in the U.S. has at least one Baptist Hospital. But to be "persactly" accurate, as a buddy of mine used to say, it was Pensacola, Florida which is up in the northwest end of the state. They call it "The Panhandle". For years I searched my mother's cabinets for a frying pan with a handle that shape (never found one by the way!). But anyhow, let me continue with the introduction of the people who had such a profound effect on my early childhood and adolescence. My father was also born in Pensacola, Florida to Charles Deese, Sr. and Jewel Deese. They were hardworking people and raised their only son to be honest at whatever the cost and to be a hardworking man of his word. But most of all, my grandmother, who I called "Nana", raised him to be a Christian.

My father met my mother at Mississippi College, a Baptist college just outside of Jackson, Mississippi. Jo Ann Cotton was born in Jackson, Mississippi to Van and Nell Cotton. (Note the coordination of the names of the two grandfathers to mine). Anyway, Mr. and Mrs. Cotton, otherwise known as "Porter and Fluffy'" had both known hard times coming up but they, too, taught their two daughters ( Jo Ann and Sylvia) that life is not always fair but to trust in the Lord and hard work will keep you happy as well as honest.

Sylvia Suzanne Deese - what more can I say. This is my little big sister (all 5'-2" of her) being six years apart we were not real, how can I put it, "close", shall I say. I was the younger bratty brother. So we never really got along. She more or less tolerated me, which really shows character. I would not have been so nice if I had been in her place dealing with such a "Royal Pain in the keester".

I guess my youngest memories are of a precious little colored lady named Dorsey. She helped my mother around the house with the cleaning and the tending to me. I really don't know how many days a week that she was there. In my mind it seemed that she was always there but knowing the financial strains that two children and life's necessities can put on a young couple, I think she may have only been there one or two days a week.

I remember lying on our hardwood floors in the mornings watching "Captain Kangaroo" and eating raisins. One morning Mama comes in all excited to tell me that Daddy had gotten me into Pensacola Christian School. I did not know what cursing was at that age but I knew what wanting or needing to curse felt like. That started my hate affair with formal education. Not so much a hate affair but it seemed like such a waste of time to learn things that had no practical use such as diagramming a sentence. To this day I think that English teachers all over the United States got together to see how useless a process they could conceive to absolutely waste time. Henceforth, "Class let's diagram a sentence!"

My educational experiences saw me start off in Pensacola Christian as a proud kindergartner. I continued in Pensacola Christian until third grade where I had to tell Miss Orthwein goodbye! (Oh yeah, Orthwein, it ain't exactly a southern name.) Then I proceeded to invade the ranks of Escambia Christian School where life became more southern and serene. You see, Pensacola Christian had a dress code and hair code. In Pensacola Christian the acceptable boy's hair cut would have made any Marine D.I. proud. In fact, I always thought that some of the teachers at P.C.S. doubled as Marine Corps D.I. fill-ins. Anyway, back to E.C.S. where I expanded my mind in a relaxed environment until sixth grade. I also learned (around fourth grade) that those weird looking things in class with me and the guys could aactually be mor interesting to talk to than any of my buddies. In fact, when seven or eight girls started calling your name from the sidelines and cheering for you, you tend to run faster than before.

About this time Mama took a job as Librarian at a beautiful little country school named Barrineau Park School. Three or four weeks before sixth grade started, me and a buddy were playing out back at the house when I had a slight miscalculation in physics which resulted in a misintuned carpicular refraction of the radius and the ulna. So this posed a little - what's that? Oh! I fell and broke my left wrist (keep in mind I said my left wrist, cause I'm right-handed). But as I had said, I started Barrineau Park School after six weeks of sixth grade. When I transferred to my new sixth grade class I found out that my mother had already told all the girls that I had blonde hair and blue eyes, so their curiosities were already sparked when I walked in that first day. I found that all over the classroom seats had been saved for the new boy. Well I figured I'd play this for all it was worth. By the end of the day l had four or five new girlfriends and all of them were anxious to do my writing for me. Due to the fact that Mrs. Roberts said, "Van can't write that well with his right hand so we will write for him", somehow they understood that I was left -handed when all I said was that I can't write too well with my right hand! Which really is the truth. My penmanship is terrible but who was I to break their giving spirits? They finally forgave me after they found out the truth but it was worth getting to sit so close to five girls in the sixth grade.

Later years found me at Tate High School, where at the end of ninth grade football season; actually it was the start of spring training for Junior Varsity, I was playing Free Safety. Now keep in mind, in ninth grade I was 5' 10", wore a size 11 shoe and weighed 104 lbs. I was not your typical All American material. But at spring training, after a year of sitting the bench due to size and inexperience, the new defensive coach, who was built similar to me when he was in school, decided to sit me down and give me a few pointers. I found out how to blind side a receiver or a running back or, in this case, the Varsity quarterback. The ball was snapped and here comes the fullback with the quarterback right behind him. The cornerback took out the fullback which left me to tend to the runner. The Defensive Coach called out "Deese, he'd better not get up", which meant I had to drop all 195 lbs. of this future senior quarterback. Well, I'm proud to tell you that dynamite comes in small packages. After the trainers helped him off the field I couldn't help but think, "That was easy!!"

After practice I went to talk to the quarterback. I suggested that we go get a cold drink. His reply was "I can't, I don't have any money." To which I replied, "Well, I'll loan you the money 'til tomorrow." He said, "Well, I won't have it then either. "What he was getting to was that he would have to ask his mother or father for coke money when they gave him gas money each week to which I replied, "Don't you have a job?" As it turned out he nor any of the other "star football players" had money nor jobs. When I asked how they took girls out on dates they said the girl either paid or they got it from their parents.

Now I learned early from my parents if you want to go somewhere or have money to buy something, you earned it. We didn't believe in welfare in Charlie's house and yes, I believe that allowances for brats is the same thing as welfare for bums who can work but won't. So I decided to spend my time working at whatever I could do, be it working for my Daddy or for a man three miles away, cleaning yards. But it was my decision and I still think that developing good work habits beats the hell out of learning how to tackle a money-borrowing 18 year old football player.

The end of my tenth grade year my having worked hard for my money paid off in a way that changed my life forever. I was at church one morning as we were nearly every Sunday morning. But this spring morning a shy, little diamond in the rough hesitantly stepped up and asked me if I would mind going with her to the Prom. Well I wasn't sure what you do at a Prom but I knew if Mama didn't know that we could ask Daddy. So when they told me that it was a formal affair and we would dance, all I needed to know was where to sign up for the dance contest! Keep in mind this was spring of 1979, Disco was hot on the dance floor and so was I thanks to group lessons my parents and I had taken ... and done quite well at, I might add.

We went to the Prom in her mother's car with this little brunette driving, of course. Hey, I only had a learner's permit. We had so much fun that we promised each other that we'd go to go to my Junior Prom the next year. It seems that she was dating this "football player" and he couldn't get the money for a tuxedo or dinner. But here is where it paid off. Not only did I take his girlfriend to her Senior Prom, three years after our first date, I took her to our wedding. Thirty three years, several houses and children later it looks like Disco is coming back in style. But I promise you one thing, I ain't wearing no leisure suit for nobody.

As in life things change, we are still great friends but no longer together.

MAMA ALWAYS TOLD ME TO BE DIFFERENT

As long as I can remember, Mama would see a flowerbed full of purple flowers and there would always be one yellow or red flower all by itself. Mama would say, "Snoot, (she's called me that all my life) you know which one of them flowers I want you to be like?" "Yes Ma'am", I'd answer, "that red one." This was because she wanted me to be known for being Van Deese, not one of the crowd. Also, to teach me to stand alone if necessary for what I know was right and not just follow the crowd.

This has helped me in several areas. You see, Daddy started Deese Construction in 1972. I would clean up jobsites and work with Daddy to make money and to learn much of what I depend on daily now to run our construction company. I was the Boss' son but don't take that to mean I had it easier, 'cause I didn't. When I was in high school my Junior and Senior years I wore a cowboy hat to school. About the end of Eleventh grade John Travolta wore one in a movie and then everybody wore one. That fad went away but when my son was born I started wearing a Resistal hat (one of the better made cowboy hats).

I was wearing cowboy boots when we left the church on our honeymoon. But the real difference in my boots didn't come 'till seven or eight years later. I was trying to decide, one day, on a new pair of boots since that's all I wore anymore. Being that I was now in the office and meeting the public now I had to dress appropriately. My good friends Wendy and Dawn Horne who ran the store where I shopped for my clothes, Home's Country Store, were showing me several catalogs. Everything was brown or black. So we called Nacona Boot Company and asked if they could make me a pair of men's size lI-D in a whore- house red leather. They informed me they only had red in women's boots. When I asked if they were discriminating against men they said, "Of course not". I was joking with that question but it got results and I got my red boots.

Nacona now offers red boots in men's sizes. To say I got noticed was an understatement; which was fine, people get noticed every day, but me and my red boots got remembered. In my industry you need all the help you can get. I since then have seen dozens of men with red boots. I have now developed quite a collection of various colored boots. The main point of this book is to share some of the interesting things that have happened to me and friends. Some of them you'll say are ridiculous or never happened. You have my word that they are true and unaltered basically.

We now live on a 56 acre farm in what we call Dogwood Park, Florida. It is actually in Molino but my wife refuses to put that on the return address. But who could blame her with a beautiful name like Dogwood Park available? When we first came up here after the closing of our land it was nothing but very thick woods. The first thing I did was to have all of the pine trees cut for timber. This opened it up for me to decide the layout of things to come. In no time at all we started fencing areas for pasture and cattle. Our horses were up at the farm in Shellman, Georgia where Mama and Daddy now live. On August 21, 1995 we bought our first five cattle. Four limousine bulls and one limousine heifer, all about six to eight months old. Yes, I know the order should be the other way but we wanted cows on our farm and by God we bought some. The same is true with my daughter when she's in Walmart. She's got money, so by golly, something's going to be a good deal, even if it hairlips the pope and six nuns!

What we knew about cattle wouldn't have filled a coke cap if words were a gallon a piece. Heck, I cut my teeth on motorcycles but the closest I had been to cattle was riding a bull calf when I was eleven years old. Neither me nor that calf have ever been the same. But anyway, back to the "Deese Farm" where life is like stepping into a fresh cow patty -- it ain't always fun but you'll come away from it enriched! In buying cattle every chance I got, I had a neighbor tell me about his Uncle Elbert who just happened to have two calves for sale. Well nothing would do me but I go meet Elbert.

When he came to the door I didn't know how good a friend I was about to make. As time rolled on I would buy cows from Elbert when he went to the auction to get some for me. Again, I didn't know much about cows but I was learning some things quicker than others. One day I talked to Elbert about working for me full time to get the new ground made to pasture. He brought grandsons and other hands as we needed. It was a long hard winter due to the fact that no pasture grass had gotten started yet. So I spent a cool fortune on sweet feed and hay. Spring finally came and so did the growing season. The pasture came up and the feed bills went down.

GENTLEMAN FARMER

Through Elbert's introduction I got to meet Mr. Bill Griesel. I leased 40 acres from him and decided to grow soybeans. With borrowed equipment and the 1961 Ford 2000 Diesel tractor I bought back in the winter, we started cultivating. Mr.G had raised soybeans here for years so the ground was proven. Before I planted I contacted another farmer who had a combine to see if I could hire him to custom cut my beans when time came. He agreed because he had early and late beans and mine were middle beans.

We planted on June 6th. On June 12th we had a good growth, however, that was the best of our luck. June 30th with the beans 4" high, we had nutgrass 7" high and it looked like the prettiest pasture you've ever seen. The only problem is it ain't supposed to do this! So I set out to seek chemical help since cussing and walking around with a disgusted look on my face didn't seem to help the nutgrass problem any.

So while at the Helena Chemical Farm Supply, I finally found someone who knew less than I did about farming ... The only problem was he disguised it so well that I did not know of his impending intelligence deficiency until 21 days later when the four 5 oz. bottles of Mojo he sold me for $298.00 did not work. Upon my insistent request, their field rep came to my farm. When he got out of his truck he remarked about what a beautiful green pasture I had. It took all I could do to keep from shooting him in the foot. He apologized after he found out that this was my soybean field. He said that it appeared that his man sold me the wrong chemical. "Well, Dick Tracy, where'd you park your squad car?" They were so sorry and would be happy to return my money. We cultivated the beans which we should have done four weeks prior. By this time the beans were delayed in growth, but they finally made. I contacted my friend with the combine to let him know that in three weeks we'd be ready for him.

To make a long story short, he never showed up to cut the beans due to the weather (it held him up getting his own cut). I'm a firm believer that God looks out for us idiots. After not finding anyone to cut the beans I was about to lose the entire crop. So I found a combine in North Louisiana. A friend told me about an old man selling out of his farming equipment and that this was a good combine, so I bought it. We got the combine here and Elbert said, "Well Boss, let's cut beans?" I said, "Elbert, I ain't never been this close to one of these things, I can't cut the beans without somebody telling me how to crank this dang thing up."

About this time Deese & Son was doing a project for a couple of Cajun brothers named Broussard. Cory, the oldest, told me that he had operated this same type machine and would cut the beans for us. Keep in mind, Cory has by this time, become as close to a best friend as I had ever had. So what is about to unfold made him feel worse than it did me. One of the hoppers of soybeans was contaminated with a briar weed that would discount the quality of the entire load of beans if we mixed it with the others already combined. So I said just take them out yonder and dump them over the fence. So that was that, we thought.