Tragic Thomas
Thomas Leroy Witcher was born in Choctaw County, Mississippi, in 1945 to the poorest of poor families. His father, Booker, was elderly when he married Bessie, an illiterate fourteen-year-old girl. Together they had seven children. Old Booker had given up the drink and became a fervent religious convert in his dotage.
The family had so little to eat, his mother canned peas and beans, and there was certain to be at least one fly in each jar. The family joke was that was all the meat they had to eat.
Thomas and his sister Maybelle were the only ones to make a life for themselves. Maybelline attended Belhaven College, married a fellow student, and they became missionaries. Thomas attended the local junior college for a semester and dropped out to join the army.
One summer day in 1966, a friend and I were riding around in her parent's car when we saw Thomas sitting in his Chevy Super Sport outside the tiny local hospital. We didn't know who he was, but we stopped anyway because of his car.
Thomas and I dated for about six weeks before we decided to get married. I turned sixteen in July, and we married in August, not long before school started and I was to start my junior year.
Thomas was determined to have a better life, so we moved to Jackson, MS, where he worked in the computer department of a large bank.
As the marriage was falling apart, my mother came one weekend to babysit our son, Steven, who was about three years old, while we went out. Thomas had been drinking and was driving out to the reservoir when I suddenly realized he was planning to drive the car into the lake and kill us. The area was completely isolated, and now it is covered in houses and restaurants; as he slowed at a four-way stop, I jumped out of the car and ran into the woods to hide. When I felt he had gone, I came out, and a car stopped and took me home.
We soon separated, and Thomas began drinking more. He had a terrible wreck that put him in the hospital for several days. He wanted us to get back together, but I was resolute. The marriage had lasted four years.
Thomas went on to marry a sweet, compliant woman named Frida, and I ultimately let Steven go and live with them. During this time, Thomas, like his father, found Jesus.
He later worked for the U.S. Postal Service as a mailman until he developed an eye condition that left him barely able to see. For a while, he worked at the downtown post office in a kiosk selling gum, candy, and cigarettes. In his later years, he did the same at University Hospital, the state teaching hospital.
He always had his bible in his hand, offering the patients and their families to share the promise of god and pray with them. He had quite a reputation there.
Thomas's faith was strong, and Steven once told me they had to pray to get money for McDonald's. But one-tenth of his gross wages always went to the church.
His life of pious devotion hopefully provided some solace. Our son Steven attempted suicide during his junior year in college. Six months later, he drove his car into a large car, breaking his neck immediately. Fortunately, the other driver only suffered a broken leg. A few years later, his daughter, Hope, who was about fourteen, developed an aggressive brain cancer and suffered a painful death. Prayers nor medicine could save her.
Thomas suffered a severe stroke when he was about seventy and suffered a prolonged and painful death. His church family visited, prayed, and set up prayer chains to no avail.
His life reminds me of the story of Job. He knew this story because he knew the Bible backward and forward.
So much for his faith, the picture is now in the trash.
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