He is named Christmas, yet life wasn't all glitter
by Sherrie Norris
On Dec. 25, 1920, a baby boy was born to a sharecropper's family in southern Person County in a little community called Hurdle Mills, near Roxboro.
When the infant's older brother ran to the little country store later that day — with a half dozen eggs to trade for a can of sardines for the family's Christmas dinner — he excitedly told “Miss Lizzy Allen,” the proprietor, that he had a new baby brother.
“Well, you tell your mama she needs to name that little boy Christmas,” Miss Lizzy was reported to say.
That's the story that Christmas Columbus Pettiford has been told all of his life and today he is celebrating his 91st birthday, on Christmas Day.
“Me and Jesus is brothers,” he said with a wide grin when asked if the day held any other special meaning for him.
Bearing such an unusual first name hasn't been all glitter and gold for the man raised in a family of six children, when, he said, “times was hard for a black boy.”
“I've had to take a lot over my name all my life, but I was always a big ol' boy that nobody ever messed with me too much. You take a boy my size raised to work mules and hoe ‘baccer and corn all his life, somebody's liable to think twice ‘fore they mess with me. They might've started a scuffle, but they never got too far.”
With memories of the distant past far more vivid than those of last week, Pettiford, a resident of Glenbridge Health and Rehabilitation Center in Boone, recalls growing up in a time that many of us have only read about.
“I could work all day beside the whites, but when it come time to eat, I sure couldn't set down beside ‘em,” he said. “I always thought God made me like I is and made you like you is ‘cause that's how he wanted it. They ain't no diff'rence, but the color of our skin.”
His father was a hard worker and a deacon in the church. “My daddy died in church, when a woman got ta shoutin' so loud, it scared him into a heart attack. He fell dead right there,” he said.
Pettiford was “raised right,” he said, “and never set out to do nobody no harm.” He admits, however, that “wild women and white liquor” contributed to the downfall of his first marriage “and a few other things” along life's way. “I had a hard time stayin' away from both of ‘em, he said.
Pettiford “stayed at home and worked as a school janitor,” until he was drafted into the Army at 19. “I didn't go to them, they come and got me,” he said.
He was eventually sent overseas “on a cattle ship,” and served in New Guinea with the 810th Aviation Squadron.
“We was on the water for 17 days tryin' to git there and before that, I hadn't never seen no more water than what come from the spring,” he said.
“When we got over there and started off that big boat, they was shootin' at us and mowin' us down like chickens,” he said.
Pettiford served his country for 35 months and 18 days before he returned home at which time he went to work for General Tire. He eventually retired from the state of North Carolina. “I supervised inmate labor,” he said. “Them boys didn't mess with me none. They knew better.”
He moved to Greensboro and landed a job working for “the son of a rich man,” he said. “I called his daddy Mr. Greensboro ‘cause he had all the money he could stand. They built me a little shack to live in and treated me kind,” he said.
Pettiford supervised the kitchen of “the first black seafood place down there,” he said, and is amazed that Libby Hill has expanded into the large chain that it is today.
Pettiford met and married “Miss Sadie,” his second wife, during that time.
The couple eventually moved to Boone and ended up together at Glenbridge shortly before Miss Sadie “passed on, a little over a year ago,” he said.
“I miss that woman,” he said, with a tear his eyes.
Visits from his children and his rapport with facility staff —especially his friend, Jason Lankford — help fill the void.
Life has been good, Pettiford said, “but it's been rough, too, at times. They good to me here and I guess this is where I'll live out my days.”
As the lights on the tree at Glenbridge emit a twinkling glow, so does the smile of a man who lives there — a man called Christmas.
When the infant's older brother ran to the little country store later that day — with a half dozen eggs to trade for a can of sardines for the family's Christmas dinner — he excitedly told “Miss Lizzy Allen,” the proprietor, that he had a new baby brother.
“Well, you tell your mama she needs to name that little boy Christmas,” Miss Lizzy was reported to say.
That's the story that Christmas Columbus Pettiford has been told all of his life and today he is celebrating his 91st birthday, on Christmas Day.
“Me and Jesus is brothers,” he said with a wide grin when asked if the day held any other special meaning for him.
Bearing such an unusual first name hasn't been all glitter and gold for the man raised in a family of six children, when, he said, “times was hard for a black boy.”
“I've had to take a lot over my name all my life, but I was always a big ol' boy that nobody ever messed with me too much. You take a boy my size raised to work mules and hoe ‘baccer and corn all his life, somebody's liable to think twice ‘fore they mess with me. They might've started a scuffle, but they never got too far.”
With memories of the distant past far more vivid than those of last week, Pettiford, a resident of Glenbridge Health and Rehabilitation Center in Boone, recalls growing up in a time that many of us have only read about.
“I could work all day beside the whites, but when it come time to eat, I sure couldn't set down beside ‘em,” he said. “I always thought God made me like I is and made you like you is ‘cause that's how he wanted it. They ain't no diff'rence, but the color of our skin.”
His father was a hard worker and a deacon in the church. “My daddy died in church, when a woman got ta shoutin' so loud, it scared him into a heart attack. He fell dead right there,” he said.
Pettiford was “raised right,” he said, “and never set out to do nobody no harm.” He admits, however, that “wild women and white liquor” contributed to the downfall of his first marriage “and a few other things” along life's way. “I had a hard time stayin' away from both of ‘em, he said.
Pettiford “stayed at home and worked as a school janitor,” until he was drafted into the Army at 19. “I didn't go to them, they come and got me,” he said.
He was eventually sent overseas “on a cattle ship,” and served in New Guinea with the 810th Aviation Squadron.
“We was on the water for 17 days tryin' to git there and before that, I hadn't never seen no more water than what come from the spring,” he said.
“When we got over there and started off that big boat, they was shootin' at us and mowin' us down like chickens,” he said.
Pettiford served his country for 35 months and 18 days before he returned home at which time he went to work for General Tire. He eventually retired from the state of North Carolina. “I supervised inmate labor,” he said. “Them boys didn't mess with me none. They knew better.”
He moved to Greensboro and landed a job working for “the son of a rich man,” he said. “I called his daddy Mr. Greensboro ‘cause he had all the money he could stand. They built me a little shack to live in and treated me kind,” he said.
Pettiford supervised the kitchen of “the first black seafood place down there,” he said, and is amazed that Libby Hill has expanded into the large chain that it is today.
Pettiford met and married “Miss Sadie,” his second wife, during that time.
The couple eventually moved to Boone and ended up together at Glenbridge shortly before Miss Sadie “passed on, a little over a year ago,” he said.
“I miss that woman,” he said, with a tear his eyes.
Visits from his children and his rapport with facility staff —especially his friend, Jason Lankford — help fill the void.
Life has been good, Pettiford said, “but it's been rough, too, at times. They good to me here and I guess this is where I'll live out my days.”
As the lights on the tree at Glenbridge emit a twinkling glow, so does the smile of a man who lives there — a man called Christmas.