In the middle of the Depression, one of our small hometown weekly newspapers ran a promotion. They “hid” the names of residents, mostly kids, in the ads. If your name appeared, you won a movie ticket!
In the 1950s, as a child visiting my great aunt, Julia, I was afraid of her next-door neighbor, Hugh Robinson. Aunt Julia and Hugh were both about 50 and had grown up as neighbors. She talked to Hugh as if he were a regular person, but to me, he was very scary. He was short and swarthy with a stubbly face and rumpled old clothes. He always looked down and answered her casual questions slowly with short phrases from a mouth with a droopy side. He lived alone in a small house with peeling paint, filled with several large barking dogs. He worked at the RCA television cabinet factory in nearby Monticello.
He had been raised as an “only child” since an older brother married and moved to Baltimore and another drowned long ago. His folks, Frank and Minerva, had died years ago. His mother had been active in church and clubs and had seen to it that Hugh attended school and participated in activities like church choir. As a teenager, Frank and Minerva would annually take Hugh and some schoolmate on a day trip by train to Chicago. (My great aunts, Mary and Julia, would tease each other about the times each had gone on that train excursion with Hugh.)
In the lower right of this 1933 newspaper ad, you’ll see Hugh Robinson’s name. He would have been 25 at the time. Another name, Frank Robinson, also appears, so Frank won a ticket too!
Way back then, the newspaper editor would have known that if Hugh was to be going to the movies, he was sort of “slow” and needed someone to go with him, like Frank Robinson, Hugh’s daddy. (Note the hint to give Dad a treat.)
In 1967 at 59, Hugh died alone in the house in which he was born.
I wish I hadn’t been so afraid of Hugh.
Stalking Pulaski County 